Wedding Crashers
by IBidYouAdieu
Summary: Some approaching event is making The Doctor moodier and moodier and Donna has had enough. What follows is a mutant virus, a sea monster, a hen night, a spanking from Captain Jack, and the rescue of a runaway bride. Ten/Martha w/Donna & Jack.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovely readers. I know, I know – this is not an update to **_**Hello Again**_**. I've hit a wall there, unfortunately. BUT, far be it for me to deny you more Ten/Martha shippy goodness while I figure out how to give you a nice, juicy Eleven/Martha, Eleven/Amy, Amy/Rory love…square? So without further ado, a fic I'm very excited about! **

**It's Part One of a three part AU series I call A TWIST OF FATE, in which Ten/Martha gets underway with a little help from The Doctor's friends (namely Captain Jack and Donna – oh, and a genetically engineered sea monster, but you'll read all about that). It's AU because I'm stripping out "Silence in the Library" and "Forest of the Dead" (**_**really awesome**_** episodes, but as much as I love River Song, there's no room for her in this particular Ten/Martha universe, sorry!). And obviously this will effect the rest of the season, including Rose's return. **

**Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! And I promise to figure out how to deliver **_**Hello Again**_** properly with the quick(ish)ness!**

**I own nothing (aside from a pathetic, fangirly crush on David Tennant, Catherine Tate, John Barrowman, and the lovely Freema Agyeman).**

**Reviews are crack! Constructive criticism is love!**

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**A Twist of Fate**

A _Doctor Who_ series by kendrawriter

**Part I: Wedding Crashers**

**I.**

Something was looming over them.

Some thought, some memory, some approaching event, or some inevitable confrontation was making The Doctor moodier and moodier as the weeks progressed. In fact, 'moody' didn't do this justice.

He was always one for a bit of cheek, but Donna had never seen him like this. At first, she figured that was just him. Something to add to the mental list she was making of all his eccentricities. So, he was as skinny as a pole, dressed like a hipster geek, licked things _no one_ should be licking, talked a mile a minute – and apparently sometimes got depressed and dragged around pouting like a teenager on her period. And for a while, that explanation satisfied her. Because she had seen the dark, haunted looks before. Heard the loneliness and grief in his voice the very first time she met him, when he spoke of Rose. He could get like that, she knew. Sometimes he'd be so bloody excited – all jumpy limbs, messy hair, big white teeth and wriggly eyebrows – and something would trigger that haunted look. Just for a second. But he always, _always_ recovered too quickly for her to bring it up properly.

Then Donna began to suspect this was different from those times. _This_ wasn't haunted; it was _petulant_. _This_ wasn't grieving; it was _self-pitying_. And this lasted a lot longer than those 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' moments of melancholy. And when he started taking things out on her, snapping a bit more than normal, raising a few more stern eyebrows than usual, and laying on the _'honestly Donna, how thick are you?'_ routine a bit heavier than the customary light-hearted jabs they exchanged with each other – well she knew she would soon either have to smack him one or demand that he tell her what had his knickers in a twist. Or both.

And of course, they were in the middle of a crisis when she'd bloody well had enough.

They were breaking into some military space base on some rocky, cold, miserable planet in who knew what part of the universe some hundreds of years in the future so that The Doctor could confirm the presence of some rare and deadly (he firmly stressed that point, about it being deadly) piece of antiquity for some bloody reason or other. _Why_ they couldn't come back during business hours, and _why_ he handed _her_ the sonic screwdriver doohickey and muttered for her to use setting eight hundred and something to deactivate the security circuit was beyond her. He claimed to be hacking into the mainframe to pinpoint the exact location of the 'artifact' (a Weeping Angel, he called it, which sounded like something he made up) to 'kill two birds with one stone'.

Well, she cocked it up. Used setting eight hundred and two when she should've used eight hundred and three. Later, he explained that this particular setting tripped alarms instead of deactivating them. The alarm sounded and seconds later guards were everywhere, shooting at them.

The Doctor yelled "DONNAAAA!" angrily from behind her, sauntered over and snatched the sonic away, glaring, and grabbed her hand. "I ask you to do _one_ thing – ohhhh, come _on!_"

They were running, and were being choked off on all sides by the guards or foot soldiers or whatever they were (they were shooting to kill, of that much she was certain), but she didn't care. She stopped in her tracks, snatched her hand away, and gave him a good shove. He went skidding to a halt (barely catching himself from tipping over onto his face) and rounded on her, glaring in disbelief.

"What was _that_ for?" he demanded, his eyes as big as saucers.

She clenched her jaw, her mouth doing that angry pout she was so good at, letting him know she meant business.

"Oh right, you wanna stay and have tea, then?"

"_Oi!_" Donna barked, marching up to close the distance between them and jabbing a finger in his wiry shoulder. "You _watch it_, mister! I am _this_ close to breaking your boney arse in half, got it? What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you? You've been acting like a tetchy tosspot for _weeks_ now!" She jabbed harder. "And I WILL NOT – BLOODY – STAND FOR IT – ANYMORE!"

He rubbed his shoulder. "What are you on about? At a time like this?"

"You know bleedin' well what, you lanky sod! You've snapped at me one time too many."

The Doctor bounced on his toes impatiently, raising both eyebrows at her, gripping the air with his hands. "Donna, now _really_ isn't the time – armed guards! Chasing us? Shooting? Ring a bell? We need to run!"

"I'm not bloody _moving_ until you apologize." She crossed her arms and planted her feet.

Sirens were going off, footfalls were steadily approaching, and they still had a ways to go before they reached the safety of the TARDIS. Of course, The Doctor could probably talk his way out of getting them both killed, but neither of them fancied sticking around to find out.

He groaned and dropped his head in frustration. "I'm sorry," he muttered irritably over the sirens.

"You what?" she angled her ear in his direction defiantly.

The Doctor looked up at her, his eyes blazing, and said through clenched teeth: "Donna, I am sorry I snapped at you – now can we _please_ get a move on?"

She glared at him some seconds more, but relented. "This is _so_ not over, you."

"I believe you, now SHIFT!"

He let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed her hand again. They tore off, making it to the TARDIS in the nick of time, just before a giant dart filled with god-knew-what could lodge itself into the back of Donna's neck. It hit the police box instead, splintering tiny pieces of wood with terrifying force, as The Doctor shoved her inside and followed, slamming the doors shut behind him.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Donna stood with her arms crossed and her hip sticking out as he bounced his lanky self around the console, doing his customary "let's get the hell out of here, and fast" dance. She could hear the thump and thud and splintering of wood outside the closed doors, as the armed guards tried futilely to gain entry and seize the intruders. The sirens were still going, only an echo now, along with deep voices shouting orders angrily. The Doctor didn't look up at her once, concentrating very hard on wrenching levers and pounding the mallet against the console, typing in coordinates and releasing the handbrake.

Sparks flew and the engine column began to grind, that brilliant greenish-blue apparatus that was the heart of the room coming to life.

She only lost her defiant stance when they jolted into movement, the TARDIS dematerializing and flying off into the Vortex. She lost her balance a bit, and fell back onto the railing behind her, thanking goodness that he'd duct-taped foam padding there or her backside would develop a nasty bruise from the impact.

She decided to just lean there, her hands now gripping the padding defiantly and her expression still expectant. Of course, he still wasn't acknowledging her silent stand-off – instead he walked calmly around to where she could barely see him over the column structure, checking switches and rotating that humming, golden jelly bubble thing with painstaking precision until he was satisfied with the hew of it's glow.

When she cleared her throat "ahem", fed up with his innocent act, he glanced up at her and sighed. "Don't worry, I won't take us back there any time soon. It's just…there's no doubt they're hoarding a Weeping Angel on that base…I just need to know _why_."

He ran a hand through his ridiculously messy brown hair in frustration, frowning hard at the console.

"They _must_ know how dangerous it is, otherwise they wouldn't keep it under lock and key – " he glanced her way guiltily again but quickly averted his eyes, " – and…you know, surrounded by dozens of trained assassins," he muttered very quickly, turning to lean against the hard, coral structure, squishing his bum between a set of blue buttons and a big, thick typewriter set into the rock. He stared at his shoes, thinking hard. "So if they know how dangerous it is, why keep it…? They must think they can gain something from it, and _that's_ scary. Because if they think they can somehow…wield or contain some power from that thing, they're in even deeper than I initially thought. We won't go back right away, Donna, but we _should_ go back and this time I promise we'll check the lay of the land a bit better – and, blimey you've never _been_ so quiet, are you still there…?"

He sat upright a bit, his head swinging around to search for her. Of course, he knew where she was – right where she'd been the whole time, glaring at him. His eyes were wide as dinner plates again, his eyebrows raised (he'd somehow managed to put on his glasses in all that beating around the bush, and they rose up over the black rims in feigned innocence).

She gave him a look.

The eyebrows rose even higher. "What?"

She lifted her own brows – two could play that game.

His arms loosened from being crossed over his chest. "_What?_" he demanded in a high-pitched chirp.

"You tell me, Doctor Jekyll!" she spat, pushing herself off the railing and taking a step toward him.

"Doctor Jekyll; what's _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked, turning in his leaning position so that he was angled towards her. He voice was still shrilly innocent, but his eyes were beginning to harden – he was already starting to build up his defenses; to bar her entrance into his true feelings.

Donna raised an accusatory finger at him, shaking her head. "Oh, don't you start!"

"Donna – don't start _what_? You're being mental. Some coherence, please?" Now his voice was starting to sound as hard as his eyes looked, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, _I'm_ the mental one? That's a laugh! What about _you?_ Draggin' around here like your bloody puppy died and snappin' at me like I'm the one who ran over it!"

"Now – I told you I was sorry for that, Donna." He stood up abruptly and walked away from her, around the console. She followed him, not letting him get away so easily. "In the heat of the moment, that's me, and you should be used to it by now. I thought you knew all this about me – in fact, I thought you secretly enjoyed taking the Mickey out of me, and that was a golden opportunity! You could've called me a prawn or made fun of my haircut or something…why the dramatics all of a sudden?" He was trying to twist it around to focus on her, but it wouldn't work. She wasn't that thick.

The Doctor planted his hands on either side of the monitor and leaned in to examine it with an intense concentration that even she knew was unnecessary.

"It's not just what happened back there I'm talkin' about, Sunshine, and you know it." Donna leaned her hip against the console next to him; it was her turn to cross her arms now. She tilted her head, her vibrant ginger hair brushing against his knuckles as she tried to force him to look at her. "Besides you _are_ a prawn and your haircut _is_ ridiculous, but that's neither here nor there at the moment."

He granted her a small chuckle, but still didn't look at her. She sighed, her expression softening. Maybe attempting to beat it out of him was the wrong way to go about it.

"So, come on, then. What is it?" Donna asked gently. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. The grinding engine had somehow grown quieter, as though the TARDIS was in sync with his mood, and was trying not to annoy him any further than he already was. "Donna, I don't know what you're talking about. Honestly."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been acting strange – well, even _stranger_ than your usual. Like you…" Donna shrugged tightly, unsure of which words would be a proper fit to what she'd been witnessing "…like you have this weight on your shoulders. Like you've got sick family somewhere and things are turnin' for the worst and you're just…" she shook her head at him again, mystified, her bangs vibrating over her forehead. "You're just counting the days until you get the death letter." She rubbed his arm empathetically.

His eyes hardened again considerably, and he opened his mouth; jaw tight; to speak. Probably to rebuke her very sternly, the way his face looked. But then he closed his mouth again and closed his eyes briefly and turned away from her touch. Only when his back was to her did he speak, and his voice sounded much brighter.

"It's nothing. It's really; it's…nothing." He turned around on his heel, nodding his head too quickly, fiddling with something on the console and stuffing the other hand in his trouser pocket. "Really," and he looked up at her, giving her a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm just…due for a bit of a rest, you know?"

"You? Rest?" Donna raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Yeahhhh, why not?" he smiled fully now, slapping the console lightheartedly. "We're due for a holiday, anyway – you fancy it?"

"Since when were you _ever_ keen on taking a holiday, you maniac?"

"Oh, what're you talking about? I love taking holidays! You're the one wanting to see everything and everywhen at once; I'm not Superman you know. Time Lords need palm trees and ocean breezes, too!"

"Could've bloody fooled me…"

He looked very exasperated with her for a split second but worked quickly to hide it. Now suddenly he was keen to entice her; to please her; to make up for his behavior without having to explain it.

"So…I've…been a bit of a manky old boot lately, but I'm trying to make it up, alright? That's all you need to know, so…let's hear it. What d'you say, hmmm?" The Doctor pursed his lips, his eyes gleaming in that enticing way he used on her when he wanted to fill her head with all the endless and magnificent possibilities of where they could go in the TARDIS next. "Somewhere exotic – somewhere bright, somewhere buzzing with life and culture and color and bursting with the kind of energy that could recharge the sun?"

Donna knew what he was doing, but she smiled anyway.

"Or…" he raised his eyebrows grandly. "Somewhere heartbreakingly beautiful, so beautiful you want to melt right into the landscape and stay there forever? Somewhere so silent and pristine that you feel it's a crime that it's all meant purely for your enjoyment? Your choice, Donna Noble."

"Forget silent and pristine, then! Somewhere with a five start hotel and a spa?" She inched closer to him, and he grinned. "And lots of cabana boys with tight abs and buns of steel?"

He raised an eyebrow but stuck his tongue into his cheek appraisingly. "We could arrange that, yeah."

Donna beamed at him and came to close the distance between them. "And room service, yeah? We're talkin' I take off my trainers and there's someone waiting to give me a foot rub and a giant, fruity cocktail with a big umbrella in it?"

He frowned in mock seriousness. "Oh, we can most _definitely_ arrange that. Donna must have her foot rubs and fruity cocktails."

"_With_ the umbrella," she insisted, pointing at him.

"No umbrella, no mercy."

She bounced happily and clapped her hands in excitement. "You've got yourself a deal, Alien Boy!"

"Ahhh, _that's_ the spirit Donna!" He gave her arms a squeeze and darted around her, setting to work on programming their destination. "And I know just the place! I'd completely forgotten about it until that…nasty business with the Sontarans…" he paused and a shadow crossed his eyes but it was gone just as quickly and he gave her his pirate grin. "Anyway – off we go!"

As he danced about, she looked down and noticed what he had been fiddling with while he was coming up with a plan to distract her from her line of intrusive questioning.

It was the mobile phone that rang the one and only time she'd tried her hand at piloting the TARDIS.

Martha's mobile phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

The Doctor's sunny disposition lasted about five minutes.

Donna may not have known a spanner from a ratchet, but she was still very observant. Being a temp for so long taught her how to read people. When the new boss would want his coffee, when he would and wouldn't take calls – when he'd argued with the wife before coming into the office, when he was in a generous enough mood to let her take an extra long lunch break and when it was best to eat at her desk. She could even tell when they were gearing up to sack her. She picked up on the cues around her whenever she was in a new office. If the other women would be friendly or catty. If she'd be treated like the funny, resourceful person she knew she could be and welcomed without much problem or if she'd have to scratch and claw for a little respect. She knew instantly – the first day. Hell, the first few hours. Sometimes within minutes of the first introduction.

She knew how to observe things, and watch for her cues. Didn't mean she always paid heed to them – she'd say what she bloody wanted to say when she bloody wanted to say it (except, of course, with her mother but that was a different story).

So, she noticed what he'd been doing when she had finally finished changing clothes and packing and returned to the console room ready for a beach and a giant fruity cocktail.

He'd been sitting forward in that beat up, lumpy, yellow abomination of a captain's chair, staring hard at that mobile phone resting in its little nook in the console, his hands folded and pressed against his mouth. When she popped in, a big smile on her face and her arms full with two overnight bags (a girl had to have choices, even if they'd only be here for a day or two), he sprang up like a lanky cork out of a wine bottle and rearranged his features until they matched her expression perfectly. "Ready…!" the word nearly died on her lips, because even though he hadn't intended for her to, she had seen the longing on the side of his face visible to her before she'd interrupted his rumination.

But The Doctor didn't miss a beat. He snatched the mobile from the console and with a blur of movement his hand was coming back out of his inner jacket pocket, having deposited it there out of her sight (and, she knew he hoped, out of her mind). Then he rubbed his hands together and wriggled his eyebrows at her eagerly. "Let's go, then! Oh, Donna you're gonna _love_ Gotta Floco! The water is literally the most perfect blue you've ever, _ever_ seen! And the diamond coral reefs jut out like majestic watchtowers in some spots, throwing a thousand shafts of glittering light along the coast!"

He ran ahead of her, throwing on his coat and opening the TARDIS doors as he gestured wildly and kept talking a mile a minute. Donna kept a blank, happy expression on her face as he talked, and followed him out.

"Look at that sky! Breathe in that perfect air!" he exclaimed, standing grandly with his legs making an upside down V, the edges of his coat fanned out like a sand-colored cape.

Donna looked. It _was_ gorgeous.

Deep blue, without so much as a cloud. The sun shown brightly but wasn't too hot. She felt the perfect mixture of warm and cool caress her skin. She really didn't think she'd even need the sunblock she brought, but as a card carrying Ginger Pasty, she would hang on to it and ask The Doctor about it later.

When she breathed in, the air was crisp and clean. A lush green field surrounded them, and bursts of what looked like purple poppies dotted the landscape. Donna nudged him and he frowned down at her. "Are those the opium kind?" she joked, and he waved her off.

"They aren't what you assume, they just look that way…"

She shrugged and turned her attention back to where The Doctor was staring. Below them, in the inset of the hill they stood on, was a vast, absolutely gorgeous looking white beach. It seemed to shimmer under the giant, gentle sun. Beyond, the ocean stretched on as far as the eye could see and from where she was standing, it did indeed look like the perfect shade of blue.

"Besides, what d'you care about the flowers when you've got this view? See? Look there!" The Doctor leaned close to her and pointed out a spot in the ocean, where she could see a cluster of gleaming things throwing radiant flashes of light back at her, like a welcoming signal.

"Are those the reefs?" she elbowed him. He nodded giddily. "Oh it's…just beautiful!" she breathed, touching her chest.

He turned to watch her reaction, his smile genuine now. "Of course it is. And it's all yours, Donna Noble, for the next forty-eight hours." She bit her lip and gazed gratefully back at him. "So…" The Doctor offered her his arm and she shifted her bags around so she could take it. "What do you want to do first?"

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed good-naturedly. "Get me to the bar, you silly man!"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Okay, so it was a lot longer than five measly minutes. He actually remained pretty sunny for most of that morning.

But Donna could tell that most of the time, as he showed her around and told her everything there was to know about the planet they were on, he was only doing it for her benefit.

So she pretended to pay attention, as they hit the shops and tasted the delicious local foods in the market and arranged for their rooms at the breathtakingly opulent hotel. But, in the back of her mind, she was working out the connection – the one with the mobile phone Martha Jones had given him, and his mood swings the last few weeks. He seemed oblivious as he explained all about the customs and the natives (tall, lithe, gorgeously graceful creatures who would give the highest paid supermodel on Earth a run for her money, even the males) and rambled on about how this place came to be what he called a 'pleasure planet'.

"Originally, it was being mined for the diamonds in the coral…" he chattered on, "but then the sea king at the time flooded the lands where any enemy encampments were set up. Sent their ships crashing into the reefs, dragged their soldiers to the depths and kept them prisoner there, never to be seen again. They tried for decades to wipe his race out, and nearly succeeded, but eventually they ran out of money and soldiers and ships and the planet was deemed too dangerous to mine anymore…thousands of years went by…and when the waters finally rescinded and when the last of the mer king's people died out, a new species had evolved. A peaceful one, rather keen on showing visitors a good time instead of mining and fighting and all that rubbish. " The Doctor waved his hand around at the graceful beings gliding about, mingling pleasantly with humans and other alien folk along the beach near the outdoor hotel bar where they'd settled for a drink.

Donna lifted her head from her giant cocktail (in a bowl, not a glass, and coloured bright, cheery pink, and tasting like bubble gum if she had to place it), and said with her lips still around her straw: "_Mer_ people? These creatures are descendants from _mer people_? Like Daryl Hannah in 'Splash', _mer people_?"

The Doctor sucked happily on his straw, draining his equally giant bowl of cocktail and tapping his feet happily in the white sand. "Oh yes!" he said when he'd done, and immediately scrunched his face in pain as a nasty spell of brain freeze seized him.

Donna laughed at him as he leaned forward, pushing the empty cocktail bowl out of the way, and lay his head in his arms pitifully.

"Ha! With a brain that size, I'm surprised you didn't have a seizure!"

He popped up again, his hair sticking up in all directions, and took a deep breath. "That really hurt!" he pouted at her. She rolled her eyes and he smirked, having recovered. "No, but…not quite like Darryl Hannah in 'Splash'. A bit more…carnal, I'd say. And…scaly."

"Right…well evolution has done them marvelous…" she looked around her, chewing on her straw, at the beautiful creatures roaming about.

They were still kind of scaly, as The Doctor had put it, but their skin was pearl white with hints of sea green reflected under the sun. They had two legs now, obviously, no giant fins. They didn't have gills either. Their hair was long, silky, and white. It made it hard to tell the males from the females, except the males seemed to be taller, flat chested, and more muscular. Their features were more humanoid than fish-like, except their eyes were large and almond-shaped and the colour varied from emerald green to deep purple. Gorgeous.

Then one of them glided up to her and bowed his head, his mesmorizing blue eyes glinting at her mysteriously. "May I be of service, miss?"

His voice was like the ocean…it washed over her, giving her chills that had nothing to do with the ice in her drink. She stared at him stupidly, the straw now hanging slack in her mouth. "Sorry?"

The gorgeous Merman/supermodel/creature gestured to her feet, his long silky white hair falling over his muscular shoulder. "You've slipped off your sandals, and it appears your cocktail has gone dry."

Donna jerked out of her trance and spit out her straw, looking down to see her drink bowl empty and realizing that she had indeed slipped off her flip-flops. She'd been absentmindedly curling her toes in and out of the heavenly white sand for a few minutes now. "Oh!" She laughed nervously, a little too loudly. "So it has…!"

Her laughter died out and she forced a smile as the Merman/supermodel/sex god gave her a rather scrumptious wink. Blimey, she was turned on by an alien with fish for ancestors! She didn't think she could wrap her head round it if she tried.

The Doctor was staring at her knowingly, an amused gleam in his eyes, politely saying nothing.

"Then we shall have to correct such an oversight, beautiful miss. Please…come with me."

"Oversight? Come…with you?" Donna blushed furiously, surprised at herself.

He bowed his head respectfully again, and offered his hand. It was smooth and white, with glittering scales that glinted dark green in tiny spots under the light. She took it. It was cool, but soft like silk, and firm. He pulled her out of her chair gently. "Yes. We here on Gotta Floco take our duty as Pleasure Givers very seriously. And I am told that you shall not be happy unless you have an umbrella for your cocktail and a pair of skilled and willing hands at your beck and call. I am Kryah. I am at your service. Now…" he glanced at The Doctor, who was pretending to pick lint off of his tie, "let's start with getting you a refill…and then we'll see about massaging those lovely feet of yours, yes?"

Donna hesitated, looking over at The Doctor suspiciously. When his eyes widened to dinner plates innocently, she knew he'd had something to do with this. "Go on…have fun with Kryah. I'll just…pop out for a stroll along the beach or something."

"Well, if you insist…" Donna knew he'd done this to distract her from getting around to grilling him more about his mood swings, but at the moment she didn't care. Doctor, who? Kryah had her undivided attention as he led her away from the table and placed a strong, cool arm around her waist. He leaned down and whispered in her ear: "My hands are yours to command as you please, Miss Donna. Do not hesitate to instruct me to give you pleasure in any way you see fit."

She thought she would melt into a little pool of pasty mush and all thoughts of The Doctor's personal problems left her.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Kryah was indeed very skilled with his hands.

He touched and caressed and massaged just about every inch of her, and she had a feeling he would've done much more if she hadn't put a stop to his administrations. She did love looking at him, and the things he could do with his hands were just unspeakably lovely, but going any further made her feel a bit nervous and tugged at her conscience. Even if he were human, she couldn't see herself letting the hotel staff give her a "happy ending". She may be hard up, but she wasn't that shameless. She had standards.

So she tipped him generously (The Doctor had disappeared somewhere while they were sightseeing and came back with enough money to buy a small island) and thanked him graciously for his…service.

He held onto her hand as she passed him the tip and whispered: "It was my pleasure, I assure you. If you need anything for the rest of your stay…anything at all…please summon me."

Donna gaped at him like a lovesick poodle as he glided out of the room.

She closed the door behind him and turned to lean against it, fanning herself. "I'm gonna give that skinny Martian a big kiss next time I see him!"

Then she remembered, as the fog of lust parted and she could think clearly again. She shook her head.

"Damn him…!"

She had fallen for it. He had squirmed out of her questions and disappeared to brood somewhere while she was busy playing hide and seek with Kryah the sex god merman. Donna marched over to the com-link screen on the wall near her huge, plush bed, tapping it uncertainly. It came to life and a merwoman appeared, smiling pleasantly at her. "How may I be of service, Miss Noble?"

"Yeah, the wiry bloke I'm sharing this suite with? Looks like a twig in a suit? Crazy brown hair? You wouldn't happen to know where he's gone, would you?"

The woman paused, a little crease in her forehead. She was probably thinking that Donna literally meant she was sharing a suite with a tree branch wearing a suite. When she worked it out, her smile brightened and she nodded gracefully. "Yes, Miss, you're referring to Mister Smith?"

"That's him." Donna tapped her nails against the wall impatiently.

"He is in the hotel library, Miss. He asked not to be disturbed."

Donna scoffed and rolled her eyes. Of all the places he could go on a pleasure planet with the most exquisite beach she'd ever seen, he chose the bloody _hotel library_. Of course! "Well, he's got another thing coming if he thinks he can shake me that easily…!" she muttered, drawing another curious look from the merwoman. "And where is that exactly?"

"Across the courtyard and to the right of the anti-gravity observatory, Miss. Shall I have someone escort you? Your Pleasure Giver, Kryah perhaps?"

"Er…no thanks. He's done enough for one night. I think I can manage. Besides, I'm gonna throttle Mister Smith, and I'd rather not have any innocent bystanders around."

The merwoman looked a tad scandalized, but Donna disconnected the call. She tightened the sash on her sarong, angrily slipping on her flip-flops again and yanking her hair into a ponytail. Donna stalked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her, and set off determinedly to find The Doctor.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

She worked it out as she searched for the library.

That _something_ looming over them; that mercilessly advancing event.

Martha's wedding day.

It came to her suddenly as she was crossing the courtyard. He'd had the Sontaran invasion on the brain, choosing this place, and that damned mobile phone was definitely a clue. And the closer they got to her wedding day, the more insufferable he became. Blimey, The Doctor was harboring feelings for Martha Jones!

Why else would he be constantly fiddling with that mobile phone when Donna wasn't looking? Why else would he be acting like a wounded puppy? She thought she'd seen it in his eyes back then, two months ago when Martha proudly showed them her engagement ring. She thought she caught a look of surprise on his face; of some sort of blow that he hadn't expected to feel. She chalked it up to his ego at the time and carried on getting to know Martha, who was brilliant, really.

And when Donna saw his coat swallowing Martha whole, the sleeves carefully rolled up so that her hands were visible under all that fabric, Donna had made a joke about Martha really being over him if she could compare him to her dad. But truthfully the sight of that coat on Martha struck her as…meaningful, somehow. She couldn't quite place it. It was just the _sweetness_ with which he'd done it. The _carefulness_ with which he'd wrapped her in his favorite coat so she'd feel safer and not so exposed.

But then Donna dismissed it. After all, he had given _her_ his skinny, too tight jacket the day they met.

But it was when Martha had been separated from them on Messaline, that her suspicions cropped up again. Sure, Jenny and the battle between the Hath and the genetically manufactured humans was a huge, bloody mess, but that whole time…even as he struggled with his acceptance of Jenny…Donna could see his concern for Martha underlining his every action. His haste to get to her was evident in his every move, and the change in him when they finally saw her again didn't escape Donna's notice either.

When they said goodbye, and he had come back to the TARDIS, she had rightly assumed he was mourning for the loss of Jenny. But now that she thought about it properly, The Doctor had also leaned against the console and stared at that mobile phone even then, running his thumb over it as if he was thinking of making a call. But he eventually became distracted as they were launched into another adventure.

But as the days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, his mood was more and more sour. And now he was trying desperately to dodge Donna's concerns. If she had to bet, she'd bet that their last couple of stops had been half-arsed attempts to distract himself, and her. No way he would just abandon his determination to find out what was going on with that Weeping Angel thing, not even to turn around and announce they needed a holiday. But he had. And she wasn't fooled in the least.

He was dodging the inevitable reality of Martha's marriage so desperately that big holes were opening up in his façade and Donna Noble of all people was keeping up with the hat tricks. The only question was: what could she do about it? Well, she was going to do _something_ because this miserable, 'manky old Doctor boot' was rubbish.

The library was huge and labyrinthine. She walked around in circles for what felt like ages. When she finally found him, he was lounging in a chair near a huge picture window that showed the sunset on the beach brilliantly. His feet were propped up in a chair in front of him, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His head was bent, glasses perched on his nose, and he was reading.

Or at least, pretending to read.

His eyes were staring over the book, at some point in space, unfocused yet contemplative.

He didn't even notice her approaching. This part of the library was indeed deserted, but for him. Apparently when you told the 'Pleasure Givers' on Gotta Floco that you didn't want to be disturbed, they took it to heart.

Donna stopped in front of him and swatted at his trainers. He looked up, startled from his train of thought, and his eyebrows rose over his glasses. "Ah, finished already?" he breathed, sitting up straight and moving his feet so she could sit across from him. "Wore old Kryah out, did you?"

"Wouldn't you just love it if I did?" she asked, setting herself in the comfy lounger and gathering up some of her silky sarong in her lap. "I'll bet you'd be _ecstatic_ if I disappeared into my half of the suite with 'im and didn't emerge again until it was time to pack up and head back to the TARDIS. Give you a bit of peace, eh?"

He sighed and removed his glasses. "Donna…must we?" He looked tired then, and she watched as he closed the book, marking his place with his index finger. "I just wanted you to enjoy yourself. Why is that such a problem?"

"It's not a problem," she relented, smiling softly at him. "And I'm grateful, really. This place is beautiful…it's everything I could want for a holiday."

The Doctor returned her smile. "So? There you go. Why won't you let yourself get some rest and relaxation?"

"_Because_, you git," she answered like he was daft, "we're mates, and believe it or not I care about how you're feeling more than I care about an amazingly erotic foot message from a gorgeous merman. You're hidin' somethin' from me. There's no way I'm gonna let you try and distract me while you poke about fingering Martha's mobile when you think I'm not lookin'." She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to deny it.

He was silent, watching as Donna smirked at him, pleased with herself.

When he didn't respond, she rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in defeat before letting them flop down on the plush armrests of the chair.

"It doesn't take a bloody genius to figure it out – I was standing right next to you when she said they were gettin' married in the spring. Remember? Two months, he'd be in Africa knitting mosquito nets or whatever, and when he got back they're tying the knot. She even invited us – both. Remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember," he said quickly, sniffing and standing up abruptly. He strolled away and disappeared between two tall shelves. Donna let out an exasperated grunt and followed him.

He was scanning the shelves, his hands sliding over the spines and his jaw rigid.

"Sooo…" Donna pressed, crossing her arms and walking along side him. "I connected the dots, which wasn't hard to do, by the way."

"What _dots_, Donna?" The Doctor asked wearily, switching books and putting the one he'd been pretend-reading on the shelf in place of the one he now held. He flipped through it a bit harshly, and the fact that they had real, paper and leather-bound books on a futuristic pleasure planet with mer people walking about and an anti-gravity observatory momentarily distracted Donna.

When he slammed the book shut and looked at her impatiently she snapped out of it.

"The dots," she said pointedly, "that lead to a bitter Time Lord dreading the idea of one Doctor Martha Jones gettin' hitched to one Doctor Tom Milligan in a few days and won't admit it to his best mate."

"Ohh, _those_ are the dots you meant!" he said in mock fascination. "Oh, well you've got it all worked out then, congratulations Donna Noble!"

She pressed her lips together at his sarcasm.

"Now, are you done meddling in other people's private thoughts, or are you finally going to relax and enjoy the view?" he gestured over her shoulder, where the splendid view of the sunset was still visible through the massive window.

"Fine, then. I'll enjoy the view if you answer me one thing," she crossed her arms expectantly.

He sighed hard. "What?"

Donna hesitated, thinking maybe she'd be going a bit too far for this, but then deciding that it was her job to remind him of his faults, else his ego would balloon out of control. That was one of their strongest ties, after all – her ability to keep him grounded and rescue him from his own self-destructive instincts.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

"It doesn't matter," he said tightly.

"I think it does, mate. I think _she_ matters to you more than you care to admit."

"Donna…I'm begging you…drop it."

Donna stared at him for a minute, and he stared right back, his eyes round with resignation – defeat, even – and that forbidding look that told her she wouldn't get any further on the subject tonight.

"Fine," she shrugged and put her hands up in surrender. "We'll take in the scenery and drink bubble-gum flavored cocktails. I won't bring it up again, swear it."

"Thank you," he sighed with relief. "Now…" and his expression softened. He even cracked a smile. "Word on the street is there's a very posh to-do going on tonight for the "V.I.P" guests - guest list only. Fancy we crash it? Give the old psychic paper a go?"

Donna grinned and nodded, her ponytail bouncing. "Sounds like a plan to me."

The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked the book under his other arm as he escorted her towards the exit. "I know! We'll invite Kryah along to hover near your feet. Because there _will_ be dancing, Donna…_oh yes!_"


	3. Chapter 3

**I find myself really enjoying trying my hand at writing The Doctor and Donna's relationship, so I extended their stay in Gotta Floco for this story. Originally, I wasn't going to linger very long on this part - but I started writing and the next thing I know it took up a whole chapter. Really hope you guys like it. Next installment: Martha! Wilf! Donna meeting Jack way before the Earth was stolen by Daleks and bees! Yay!**

* * *

**III.**

They danced.

And, oh The Doctor made _sure_ that they made complete spectacles of themselves.

But first, he ushered them to their hotel suite and changed into his black tux. He insisted that she choose a posh ball gown she'd snagged from a second hand place (with some of the money she was supposed to be saving for her own flat) without the slightest hope of ever getting to wear it. Not that she had planned to do so on this trip, mind, but a girl needs to be prepared for anything. It took her nearly two hours to get ready. In between make up, hair primping, choosing the right shoes (and stealthily plucking those two diabolical chin hairs that she would rather commit murder than admit to having) The Doctor paced. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped his foot and whistled and groaned and tugged at his hair. He flipped through the channels on the entertainment system, he played hologram chess, he hung about outside the closed bathroom door whining: "Donnaaaaaa…? Aren't you finished _yet_?"

Then when she finally emerged, dressed to the nines and feeling a bit like Cinderella, he gaped at her for several seconds before finally coughing and muttering "Well, you look…very lovely." She rolled her eyes at him but blushed nonetheless. He then gave her a wicked grin, wiggled his eyebrows, and offered her his arm. "Ready for the night of your life, Donna Noble?"

And it _was_ the night of her life.

He flashed his psychic paper at the door and they were suddenly Lord and Lady Zomo, aristocrats and descendants of a family from a neighboring planet who were apparently allies of the mer king since before the Diamond Wars. He assured her it was a very well connected and highly respected family – and then added that they would need to pretend to be adopted because the Zomos were blue, averaging four feet tall, and all bald; even the females. "We're the adopted kiddies of Gormo Zomo," he muttered under his breath at her bewildered look. "He was known for being quite the ladies man – humanoid females being a weakness of his."

"Oi, watch what species you're callin' a weakness, Space Man…"

Despite their tallness and paleness, they were admitted entrance and welcomed graciously. She watched as several of the staff fumbled all over themselves to make them comfortable, and The Doctor played his part well. He strode up to anyone, any being, and launched into conversation without the slightest bit of pretense, cheerfully chewing on nibbles the entire time. Donna tried to assume the airs of a privileged aristocrat but was nowhere near as convincing as he. Still, she fell into delightful distraction by the music, the food, the glamour – and Kryah.

The Doctor had slyly made sure the Merman sex god would be there, and Donna barely had time to realize it before she was being swept onto the dance floor, caressed, and whispered to by her Pleasure Giver. They danced, they talked, they ate, they drank, and they danced some more. The Doctor cut in on Kryah at one point and swept her around the floor in old-fashioned waltz style. She beamed, and he grinned, and the crowd applauded them. Then he tried to teach her some alien dance that resembled the Robot on acid, but she managed to keep up with him.

By the end of the night, she was so sloshed and exhausted that she fell onto her plush bedcovers face first and passed out full stop. The Doctor fell beside her – and it could've been her dreams but she was somehow certain it was real – and talked at her all night. Stories of the mer king, and the people under the sea, and how Pleasure Givers came to be…the sound of his voice lulled her (whether real or imagined) into the most peaceful sleep she'd ever had. And her dreams were full of sea creatures, the perfect shade of blue, and soft, scaly hands touching every inch of her body.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The next and final day of their holiday on Gotta Floco found The Doctor dragging Donna every which way but up. They went here, they went there. They ate, they shopped, they even hiked. They did everything but have longer than a ten-minute conversation. And those exchanges were always how beautiful _this_ was, how extraordinary _that_ was, how interesting _those_ were, etc.

Not once did he show her the face she'd seen in the hotel library – the one full of longing, regret, and annoyance.

Always was he chirpy, chatty (about everything but _one_ thing), and full of his trademark manic energy.

In the back of her mind, she knew what he was doing. But the place was so magnificent and the fact that they weren't running for their lives was such a rare occurrence that she eventually allowed herself to let go of her concern – for now.

When it was finally time to go, Donna was happy, glowing – and very exhausted. The Doctor hadn't given her a single moment's peace. He had made certain that she would not have time to reflect on her concerns (or bring them up again).

She was beaming from ear to ear as they made their way back to the TARDIS.

As they were checking out of the hotel, Kryah kissed her hand and whispered in her ear that he hoped she had enjoyed herself and that he would lament her leaving _very_ much. She wondered if every Pleasure Giver on Gotta Floco said that to the guests they were assigned to serve. The thought didn't stop her from blushing furiously and batting her eyelashes at him as he glided away.

They walked hand in hand, arms swinging, and The Doctor actually seemed in much better spirits than two days ago.

So, it was with a twinge of hesitation that when he asked where to next, she said quietly "Home?"

She was still smiling softly, but his face fell.

"Home. What for?" He looked very disappointed, but Donna could see something else…just a flicker of something in his eyes, that told her to press on.

"I…just…fancy seeing the family for a bit," she answered, and added hastily as his face seemed to fall even more: "Just for a few hours!"

The Doctor was silent for a moment.

Donna held her breath, heat sprouting at her temples in fear that she'd angered him. As easy for her as it was to take the piss out of him, and as much as she knew they cared about each other, sometimes the thought of ending up on the wrong side of his genuine ire terrified her. Her mind always went back to the giant spider woman, the Racnoss empress, and her drowning children…

Not that she thought he'd ever hurt her, or anything like that. But he could retreat from her. He could abandon her. They were mates, but there was a great deal that he kept from her – from anyone. There was a great deal about him that she didn't understand yet. The very way he lived his life told Donna that, good mates or not, there were things about this skinny alien with preposterous hair that she couldn't yet fathom – and still more that she probably never would. And that in some cases, if she didn't tread carefully, she could very easily find herself sat in her flat in Chiswick again, listening to her mother's nagging and wanting to tear her hair out.

She had told Martha that she would travel with The Doctor forever. She meant it.

So she had to make a choice: risk angering him and driving him to pull the rug out from under her…or push him to confront what was bothering him and hope that he'd see the light? Would he thank her for it? She'd pushed him and called him on things plenty since they met (that very first day, in fact), but never had he resisted so…staunchly. Not even with Jenny. Whatever it was that was between him and Martha, it was something he felt deeply uneasy about. Troubled. Oh, jealous, annoyed and self-deprecating for sure. But if that was all there was to it, he'd have eventually given in to her in the library and admitted that he was being an idiot.

No, something had him scared even to admit what she could plainly see. So that meant what she was about to attempt would _have_ to work or she'd be in for it. Because she would pretty much be deceiving him in order to help him.

She'd been plotting the whole time he'd been dragging her around playing show and tell, chatting about the octopus gardens and the time he met the mer king during the early years of the Diamond Wars.

So he was silent, and they looked across the console room at each other, and Donna began to carry out her plan.

"It's just, the granddad's birthday's coming up and I know he'd be disappointed not to see me." She fiddled with a button on the console, scoffing softly. "He'd never admit it, but that old codger lights up like a Christmas tree when we do his birthday." She looked up at him, her smile growing as she genuinely warmed with the thought of Wilf. "Its always just the two of us. Mum is always annoyed because we always go off on silly little adventures and crack up like a couple of kids!"

To her relief, The Doctor's eyes softened and the corners of his mouth turned up. "Adventures, eh? Why am I not surprised?"

She laughed, remembering now. "This one year we went to the aquarium and pretended we were in a submarine! I mean, I was ten and I was terrified I'd be spotted by someone from school but it was so much fun. We stuffed ourselves with pie and were both too sick to have dinner when got back that day."

"Ohhh," The Doctor grinned fully now, leaning his head back in amusement. "I'll bet your mum was furious!"

"She was! Never let us hear the end of it! But we didn't care! That was before he lived with us, when he was still in the service. I loved it when he would visit…" She was feeling very nostalgic, now, and had to mentally check herself or she'd lose sight of her mission.

The Doctor frowned suddenly, catching onto the wistfulness in her voice. "Why didn't you say before?"

Donna shrugged. "I suppose I figured…London would be the last place you'd want to go because of…"

She gave a pregnant pause, and his eyes hardened just a bit. He swallowed hard. Despite the faint resistance in his eyes, he shrugged and gave her a quick, crooked grin. "Nahhh! We can't have you missing your birthday adventure with Wilf! You want London – London it is!"

Donna smiled gratefully as he launched into action, bringing the TARDIS to life.

"Oh, good! He'll be so excited! Maybe even more to see you than me, the old weirdo!"

The Doctor glanced up at her as he entered the coordinates. "Me? Blimey, there's a change. Usually takes relatives a few goes before they warm up to me. If at all…"

His eyes narrowed and Donna wondered what he was remembering, but as per usual it was gone before it started properly and he was nodding at her front jeans pocket where she kept her mobile. "Aren't you going to ring him? Give him the good news?"

Donna panicked for just a second – she _had_ planned to ring ahead, but only to tell Wilf to play along when they arrived. She definitely didn't want The Doctor hearing that. So she improvised. "Oh – I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Too right. Only fitting. Off we go!" He nodded and turned his attention back to the console. It looked like he bought it.

Donna muttered something about going to change and carried her bags out of the console room as they landed. The Doctor nodded slowly and said 'yup' but looked deep in thought.

She moved quickly, practically breaking into a run once she was sure she was out of his sight and earshot. She had a lot to arrange and very little room to wiggle in.

"Donna Noble, Matchmaker, on the case!" she whispered to herself determinedly.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

**09:35 am South Bank, London**

Martina woke still angry, and on top of that she felt a cold coming on.

She tried phoning Dillon again three times. The answer service clicked on after the first ring every time, angering her still. "Bloody arsehole…" she hissed under her breath as she tossed her mobile onto the pillow next to her and buried herself under the covers.

She fell into a deep, fitful sleep; images of the previous night's row swam in her mind. Dillon was a pretty laid back person for the most part. Brilliant, funny, charming, and damned sexy. But last night all that vanished and what was supposed to be a well deserved date night (between Dillon's job and Martina's, they sometimes went too long without seeing much of each other) turned into a screaming match.

All Martina wanted was to share a drink, eat some delicious food, listen to some Nina Simone, and have a long overdue shag. What was so wrong with that? Dillon was stressed, Martina understood that, but something about last night's fiasco plagued her. She was worried – which further pissed her off.

**17:52 pm**

When she woke up again a few hours later, late for work of course, she felt bloody terrible.

Weak, dizzy, feverish, and nauseated, Martina dragged herself to the toilet and vomited until her stomach was empty and she was heaving dryly into the bowl. She flushed and stumbled into the shower, feeling a cold, clammy sweat breaking violently across the skin all over her body.

Damn it, _if she'd gotten some foreign flu virus from Dillon on top of all the other things she had to deal with in this sham of a relationship…!_

She could hardly stand in the shower. She knew she would miss work. Not that it bothered her. Waiting tables was a thankless torture that had her wanting to set fire to something most nights. But it was what she had to do in order to put herself through graduate school, and she couldn't wait for the day when she could waltz in and tell her greasy pervert boss Ralph to go fuck himself.

As she was feebly toweling off, Martina glanced at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and froze.

She squinted blearily; her vision blurry and unfocused on top of all her other symptoms; and walked up to inspect herself closer.

"What in the world…?" she twisted and turned in the mirror, but there was no mistaking what she was looking at.

There were dark, sickly-grayish lesions dotting her back, arm, and shoulder. Where the hell had _those_ come from? Alarmed, Martina reached out with a shaking hand to touch one. The skin slid around and peeled away like an oily bruise on a rotting apple. She gasped in disgust and shook her hand frantically to get the dead skin off of her fingers. The remaining wound, though no bigger than a pound piece, stung badly. Like she'd been bitten by a spider or stung by a wasp.

Panicked, Martina ran a hand through her dark hair and turned to grab her mobile. Her anger at Dillon vanished as real fear seized her. She stumbled forward and snatched the phone from the pillow, praying that Dillon would pick up.

She was beginning to dial when she realized that there was a clump of wet hair tangled around her fingers.

She dropped the phone.

"Oh my _god!_"

Feeling weaker and more frightened than ever, Martina practically fell into the bathroom and flicked on the light. She was shaking and burning up as she hastily wiped away the lingering steam from the mirror and leaned in closely to examine her hair. As she ran her fingers through it, checking for more lesions, more and more clumps of it came out. Like clearing away cobwebs, her wet hair came loose from her scalp in thick handfuls.

Martina looked down at her hands, now full of dark brown hair, and screamed.

**19:58 pm Royal Hope Hospital A&E, London**

Two hours later, Martina Larsen was dead.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**49 Hours Later**

Speaking of long-overdue shags, Tom Milligan slid from Martha Jones' body exhaustedly, breathing deeply, and wiped sweat from his brow. He flashed her a happily satisfied grin and collapsed on his back next to her, closing his eyes.

"Bloody _hell_. Have I missed that…!" he whispered hoarsely.

Martha gave a soft chuckle and rolled over onto her stomach, resting her chin on his shoulder, which was damp with perspiration. She watched his handsome face as he drifted off into a peaceful, sated half-sleep – his muscular torso rising and falling rhythmically as he caught his breath.

"Hey, mister…" she muttered, leaning forward to nibble his ear. He shivered and clenched his jaw. "We're not finished yet."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his manhood twitch in response. He took a deep breath and let it out through his nostrils, an action that for some reason always gave Martha a bit of a flutter between her legs. He used to do that a lot during their time together in the year that wasn't (a year he had absolutely no recollection of), and she remembered how even then she thought it was incredibly masculine and kind of sexy.

"Martha, you're wearing me out."

"Yep." She popped her 'p', but didn't think twice about where she'd gotten that particular habit. "That's the plan."

He squinted an eye open to peek at her with feigned incredulity. "We've been shagging since I got back – aren't you knackered yet?"

"I haven't seen you for two months!" she swatted him on the stomach. He smiled. "A girl has needs, you know."

He chuckled but didn't answer. It seemed he was drifting off to sleep again. _Oh no you don't_, she thought wickedly. Martha lifted a mischievous eyebrow and nibbled at him again. Tom sucked in a breath as she moved down to the sensitive spot on his neck just below his earlobe. She saw him beginning to harden again and gave a small purr of triumph, already wet and ready for him.

"Come on…please?"

"Don't beg," his deep voice pleaded. "You know how that…mmm. _Fuck._"

Martha was now biting and licking him slowly, tracing a path down his collarbone to his breastplate, sliding her thighs together as she burned for him. She never begged for anything. Unless she wanted to. And right now, it was having the desired effect. He reached a strong hand up and laced his fingers in her hair, gently guiding her as she continued her administrations down his chest, to his stomach, and lower.

"I know it turns you on," she whispered between kisses and soft, wet flicks of her tongue. "When I say 'please'…"

His breathing was shallow, his eyes still closed.

He was almost at full salute. "Say it again."

"Please…" she moaned, letting her hot breath caress his skin. His cock rose and stiffened further. "_Please_, Tom…make love to me just one more time?"

"Martha…" Tom gasped as she began to plant light kisses against his shaft, rubbing her damp lips against the skin there. She flicked her tongue out again and he groaned throatily.

When she saw that he was ready for her, and the muscles in his body were tight with anticipation, she took him in her mouth.

"Holy mother of…don't stop!" Martha dipped her head and took him deep into her throat before pulling up again, wetting him from hilt to tip. His hips bucked instinctively and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Martha continued as he instructed, now using her hands along with her mouth. She sucked hard and caressed him with her tongue and tender, full lips, massaging his shaft with her soft hands until his toes were practically curling. "_Jesus_, woman, _come 'ere!_"

Tom reached down, grasped her by the shoulders, and pulled her upward in one swift movement, his strength making her feel light as a feather. He sat up and kissed her forcefully, now fully awake and hungry for her – just as she'd planned. She moaned into his mouth as he grasped her hips with both hands and planted her on top of him, impaling her with his hard girth. Pleasure exploded through her body as he began to plunge into her slowly at first, then speeding up.

Martha took over command and began to ride him, gyrating and rocking her hips on top of him as she pumped up and down. He buried his face in her neck and breathed on her, unable to stop himself from groaning with pleasure at every thrust.

She threw her head back and pumped his shaft hard, angling her body so that they could both feel every stroke even more. An electric whip of ecstasy lashed through her suddenly, and it crept up her legs into her pelvis as Tom began to meet her demanding rhythm with his own forceful thrusts.

Martha grasped his shins and he supported her weight with his hands firmly clasped around her ample bottom. She concentrated on the feeling that was growing within her; it crept up and up and _up_ until it exploded and she cried out with pleasure, her whole body going rigid.

Tom felt her inner walls convulse and contract around his manhood, and very soon followed her into white-hot oblivion. He filled her violently, encircling her in his arms and burying his face in her chest.

The rocked back and forth together until the last remnants of their powerful orgasms faded.

When it was over he lay back again and covered his eyes with one arm, his other hand still clasping her firmly by the bum. He laughed. "_Blimey_, you're gonna be the death of me!"

_Wouldn't be the first time_…she thought before she could help it, but quickly pushed aside the mental image of his sacrifice during a terrible time that had been erased from history.

Instead she quipped: "Not my fault if you didn't realize what you were signing up for when you popped the question, mister."

He rose up again and grinned at her. "Oh, I knew _way_ before that." They shared a soft, tender kiss. "You were practically rippin' my scrubs off with those eyes of yours when we met."

"Ha!" Martha shook her head at him. "Says the man who couldn't stop staring at my backside any chance he got!"

As if to confirm her accusation, he gave her a good smack on the bum and then grasped her there firmly. "Touché," he winked and lifted her from him, setting her aside and sliding off the bed.

Martha settled back against the headboard, pulling the sheet over her naked flesh, watching him as he ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and stifled a yawn. "You need a haircut," she muttered lazily.

He shrugged. "Not much time for grooming in the Congo. Besides, I kind of like it this way. Don't you? I thought shaggy was in now."

Martha shook her head at him. "I'm not getting married to you looking like that. At least trim it."

Tom rolled his eyes and gathered his bath towel from the back of the chair near the bed. "Sorry…thought you liked the disheveled look. I'll make an appointment tomorrow, promise."

Martha's eyes narrowed as a memory moved in on her powerfully, conjured by his words. He didn't seem to be thinking about what he meant, but a part of her wondered if he was making a point. He pecked her on the lips and disappeared into the bathroom. She was still remembering as she heard the water running.

Once upon a time, not very long ago at all in fact…wild, unruly hair was _very much_ her thing.

So was skinny and manic.

Ancient and mysterious.

Alien and aloof.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she'd made a mistake telling Tom about The Doctor.

Tom was a self-confident, brilliant, loving man. He was capable of so much. He was generous and unpretentious and patient. One had to be, working in his field. Children needed a special kind of care and attention that was extremely innate within him to begin with. But with Tom, those same traits reached beyond his job and spilled over into his personal life. He had seen a lot, working in Africa and India and China – even dealing with the kids here in London. He invested, he cared, and he didn't give up easily. They were almost a perfect match in that way. They understood each other.

So when they had those talks that all couples falling for each other do about their past loves, he took everything in stride. He understood. She was confident confiding in him about The Doctor and the way he made her feel (both the good and the bad). She knew instantly that Tom wouldn't pass judgment or react with disbelief or jealousy.

But sometimes…just sometimes…he said things like _'I thought you liked the disheveled look'_ or _'sorry, you're askin' the wrong Doctor, love. That went way over my head!'_ with that glint in his eyes. And she wondered.

Was telling him the whole truth – not holding back anything about how incredibly hard she'd fallen for The Doctor – a good idea? Was Tom ever unsure that her love for him could reach that level of intensity? The fact was that it didn't. And probably wouldn't. There was no man now who could inspire such longing and awe within her after The Doctor.

But she did love Tom. As completely as she could love someone after The Doctor. With The Doctor, she could have no life but the one he was already leading. There would be no compromise. And she wasn't entirely sure that love with him wouldn't be just as hard as getting out of their various adventures alive.

Tom was the one man after The Doctor that Martha could clearly see spending the rest of her life with. That was just a fact. A simple, honest to goodness fact.

For the most part, that seemed like enough for Tom.

But things had been a bit…different…ever since she returned from Messeline. She'd told him about that, too.

How could she not? She swore to herself that after spending so long living in a shadow that was never fully explained to her that she would never hide those kinds of things from the people she cared about.

So she told him of seeing The Doctor again, and how good it felt (after some initial awkwardness) to fight along side him once more.

But she _stressed_: _I couldn't wait to get home. I couldn't wait to see you. Being with The Doctor and Donna and fearing I wouldn't return to you was the worst feeling in the world._

Also truth. And it seemed like enough.

Still…she wondered.

Because if she were honest with herself…really, truly, _brutally_ honest…she knew that having The Doctor hug her tightly again awoke all those buried feelings, even if only briefly. Having him marvel at her bravery and intelligence, having him grasp her hand and tell her to run for her life, having him drape her in his favorite coat, having him ask her to travel with him again…

It stirred her in ways she'd thought she had done with for good.

Her mobile rang.

Martha sighed, and scooted to the edge of the bed. She rifled through her trouser pockets until she found it and flipped it open. "Doctor Martha Jones."

"Urgent message for you on our encrypted line, Doctor Jones." It was Sasha from U.N.I.T.

"Go on."

The line clicked and a second later Colonel Mace's voice greeted her. "Evening, Jones."

"Sir. What's the trouble?"

"Your old stomping grounds, I'm afraid." He sighed and Martha sat up straighter on the edge of the bed, at full attention now. "We received a call from a Doctor Alex Forrester three hours ago, claiming an alien virus had infiltrated Royal Hope and already killed two people."

"Alien virus? Can you be more specific?"

"Specifically – we don't know. It's unlike anything we've seen. That's where we're hoping your expertise will come in, Doctor Jones."

"Right. Of course, sir."

"We need you at headquarters at oh-nine hundred for debriefing. I'll send transport."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys. So sorry for the long delay! Crazy work days lately. Barely had time to think, let alone update. I will try my hardest not to let such a long period pass without updating next time. Thanks so much for hanging in there! Enjoy!**

**EDIT: And also, when I went to post, I kept getting an error message! It kept happening over and over again for days, but it seems to be fixed now. Whew! Fingers crossed that doesn't happen again any time soon...  
**

* * *

**V.**

Martha decided to make some strong coffee instead of the usual tea for her and Tom. After all that shagging, she needed an energy boost for the day ahead.

They both showered, dressed, and where out the door in an hour. Tom headed for Hammersmith to start his double shift and Martha headed for U.N.I.T. base to be debriefed on this "alien virus" problem.

She sometimes told him about her assignments with U.N.I.T. but only after the fact and only if he swore never to repeat what she said to a single soul. She knew she could probably be severely punished for leaking confidential information to anyone, but Tom was…well, Tom was _Tom_ and most of it went over his head anyway. Or at least, that's what he claimed. He tried to offer insight sometimes, especially if something was particularly bothering her. But mostly he just listened, and marveled. And asked if The Doctor had been involved.

Always, he asked if The Doctor had been involved.

Martha fooled herself that he was just fascinated by the Time Lord the same way _everyone_ was fascinated. But she also wondered at times if that was exactly what she was doing – fooling herself.

She kissed him softly as he climbed into his car. "Hair cut tomorrow. Then off to Cliff's for the week, yeah?" he asked, leaning forward to seek another kiss.

Doctor Clifton Stone was his best friend and Best Man. They worked at Hammersmith together and had done two _Doctors Without Borders_ tours together in Africa. Tom was the Straight Man to Cliff's Class Clown. When they were together, outsiders could only step back and enjoy the show. Tom was a pretty nonchalant seeming bloke but he hid a razor-sharp sense of humor behind his easygoing façade, whereas Cliff was more obvious about it. Martha could only take the pair of them in small doses, but they balanced each other out for the most part.

She granted Tom his second kiss and nodded before pulling her lips from his. "Yep. Tish and Mum will be here tomorrow night, so you'd better clear off before then. Oh, and please tell Cliff _no gambling_."

"What's wrong with gambling?" Tom asked, feigning incomprehension.

Martha rolled her eyes. "Aside from the fact that you're rubbish at it and if you let him, Cliff will clean out your pockets? I'd rather not start this marriage in the poor house. Or I could let Dad take you to that jazz club he's been ranting about. Who'd you rather have planning your stag night?"

Tom paused. He was fond of Clive, but not of jazz, and didn't fancy a night listening to the man lecture him about "the greats" – especially not on his stag night.

"Point taken. I'll tell Cliff no gambling."

Tom gave her a salute and ducked into the driver's seat. She closed the door for him and he started the engine, gazing up at her with a warm smile and love in his eyes.

"Love you. Future Mrs. Milligan." He winked.

"Ditto, Doctor Milligan…" Martha waved as he pulled out of their little car park and drove away down the street lined with identical brownstones.

She looked around at their little street. Happily married couples came a dime a dozen here. Some with kids, some with dogs, some with cats, some with all three. Soon, she'd be part of a happily married couple…and then perhaps one of the ones with kids…Tom was allergic to pet dander so there would be no dogs or cats for them.

She tried to picture it. Finally rearranging all of the pieces of her life so that she fit in perfectly with this place and its neat rows of brownstones. Picture perfect family units sliding around like cut outs in a pop-up book. Then she felt the standard-issue firearm pressing into her back and felt the imprint of Time lingering on her skin and knew that her family portrait would always be just a little askew.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Half past the hour and she was riding in a black U.N.I.T. SUV, staring at the scenery as it passed her by behind the tinted glass at her door.

The driver, a grim-faced but handsome Private (Wagner was his name), was silent as they made their way to Headquarters.

Martha looked down at her engagement ring. It was beautiful, yet simple. It was a perfect testament to how well Tom knew her. A halo cut diamond set in fourteen-karat white gold. Not too expensive, but very elegant. She loved it. She loved _him_.

And it was the symbol of the happy, settled life she'd always known she could have if she wanted it. But the juxtaposition of this pop-up picture book life and her frenetic, earth-under-her-boots, secret alien-fighting military existence was hard to reconcile at present. Traveling with The Doctor had changed Martha in so many ways – for the better. Traveling the Earth during the darkest of times had changed her also…in some ways for the better…in some ways…maybe not. Because in some ways, it made her stare at the picture book life in wonder, as an outsider looking in, and struggle to recognize herself in the story.

What a time to be feeling this way, eh? Less than a week before she was Mrs. Tom Milligan. She had no doubts that Tom would not try to force her to retire her chaotic, alien-fighting adventure life but she _did_ have doubts about whether she could be as equally devoted to one as she was the other.

That rush, that thrill, that electric whip of excitement and determination that had been present in her every time she stepped out of the TARDIS (and now every time she received a new assignment from U.N.I.T.) was something she couldn't foresee ever giving up. So even though she hadn't once had any doubts that Tom understood that…she still found herself praying the day would never come when he would ask her to choose.

What scared her was that (at this very moment, at least) she didn't know that she would choose the picture book.

And that was her secret. Buried deep where she hoped no one would ever coax it out into the light.

The Doctor's face hovered in that deep, dark place. Her old heartache was there too. She'd just gotten unbelievably skilled at ignoring both.

"Ma'am." Wagner announced their arrival.

Martha nodded her thanks and climbed out of the SUV, wiping her mind of these thoughts. Thoughts she really ought not to be having less than a week before her wedding day.

Colonel Mace was waiting for her at the entrance, standing along side who she assumed was Doctor Alex Forrester judging by his visitor's badge and white lab coat. He looked as if he'd just come off a very long shift and she was hit with a wave of nostalgia for her old Royal Hope days.

She saluted Mace and nodded in greeting to Forrester, extending her hand towards him.

"Doctor Jones: Doctor Forrester," Mace introduced them.

"Pleasure to meet you," Forrester murmured, taking her hand. He had a curly mass of black hair and at least a day's worth of stubble peppering his jaw. His eyes were slate gray and there were dark circles developing under them. He was tall, about Tom's height – and in fact, looked a bit like Tom by the nose and chin. He looked utterly knackered, totally spooked, confused and wired up on caffeine all at the same time. "I've heard about you, round the hospital…" he went on before she could say anything. He was very soft-spoken, this chap. "The staff talk about it all the time. They say you were there when it got dumped on the moon that day. They say you and some skinny, barefoot bloke were running round like mad. They say you saved them all single-handed."

Martha smiled reservedly and nodded. "I was there, yeah," was all she admitted. She turned her attention to Colonel Mace. "Sir? Shall we?"

"After you, Jones," Mace nodded gratefully and stepped aside for her. "I'll give you the quick and dirty version while we make our way to the labs."

Martha adopted a serious, attentive mindset as she listened to the Colonel speak. They walked through the sterile, military-fashioned halls, passing by crewmembers, guardsmen and officers as they went. He didn't pause as they swiped their badges and signed into restricted areas.

From his "quick and dirty" version (with a few interruptions from Forrester to tell his side of things) she gathered the following:

At around half-past six in the evening two days pervious one Martina Larsen, age twenty-eight, was rushed to the A&E at Royal Hope from her flat in South Bank complaining of dramatic hair loss, lesions, and various other symptoms that predicted a number of possible diagnosis that ranged from jaundice to Septicemia, toxic shock, and the list went on. She was admitted and examined. Tests were run, including a tox screen and a CT scan. Tissue, blood, and urine samples were taken as well as hair samples. "The results were…enigmatic, at best," Forrester mumbled, scratching his stubble.

In other words, the doctors were totally boggled – they had absolutely no idea what was wrong with her. And she was steadily getting worse as the hours ticked by. Her heart rate was dropping, her symptoms were growing more and more complex.

"She hadn't taken anything – the drug screen came back negative," Mace went on. "She'd had a drink or two before bed the night before; no traces of poison, though there's room for error there I'm assuming…"

Both Forrester and Martha confirmed yes there was room for error – some forms of poisoning would not show up in standard (or even advanced) tests.

"The hair loss continued, the hair samples came back negative for most normal leads," Forrester supplied.

"But…?" Martha sensed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow as they neared the entrance to the medical bay.

"But…" Forrester glanced at Mace.

Martha turned to him as well, expectant.

"You'll have to see for yourself, Doctor Jones," was all she got from him.

Martha sighed and they swiped their badges. The doors opened and they pushed on. Martha grabbed a lab coat and sterile gloves – procedure. Forrester took a pair as well.

Mace ordered one of the lab attendants to fetch the file on Martina Larsen. As they waited, he continued the breakdown. "We're checking into her background, I've got men in the field."

"Good," Martha nodded. "I want to know who she was with the last few days leading up to this, medical history, jobs – past and present, friends, family members, boyfriends, anything that might give us a lead."

"Right-o," Mace nodded and handed her the file. Martha looked over it, frowning.

"These are her test results?" She asked after a few moments of studying, looking up at both men in turn.

Forrester sighed hard. "Yeah. Told you – bloody baffling."

"But this suggests…some sort of…mutation? Is this _right_?"

"It's accurate," Forrester assured her. "Well, about as accurate as it can be given the circumstances."

Martha looked over the file again and concentrated hard. Larsen's blood work and tissue samples were not right. Not at all. She didn't see the biology of a human female. What she saw was totally different – compounded, corrupted somehow. Even if she _could_ discern a traceable cause, she didn't think it would lead her to any answers whatsoever.

After a few more moments of concentration, she finally turned her attention back to the Colonel and the doctor. "I need to see the body."

There was a pregnant pause, and both men exchanged looks. Martha glared at them. Mace cleared his throat.

"Er, that is quite impossible, Jones."

Martha raised a sharp eyebrow. "Why…?"

"Because the body is missing."

Both eyebrows shot up. "_Missing_? How do you mean, _'missing'_?"

"There's more to the tale, I'm afraid," Mace confessed. "Your personal situation is known to me and I didn't wish to disturb you. It seemed we could handle what we had so far. Medical Officer Kirk was on the case at first, but…" he swallowed, and at Martha's impatient stare, finally admitted: "He also disappeared. Last night at around zero hundred hours."

"You waited until _nine-thirty_ this morning to tell me this?"

"We issued a lock down and conducted a search of the facility, but we've found no trace of them so far. I waited to get the search underway before I brought you in – we had to make sure whatever threat we're dealing with is contained before any more of ours go missing."

"So you found them, or not?" she demanded.

"We haven't yet. But we have…well, as I said, you need to see the security tapes for yourself."

Martha shifted her weight until her hip stuck out a bit and crossed her arms, still holding the Larsen file. "Colonel, is this threat still on the base? And is this threat something to do with Martina Larsen's corpse?"

"We think…" Mace stumbled over his words a bit, not unlike him even with all he'd seen and experienced serving U.N.I.T. "…that is to say – we believe Martina Larsen _is_ the threat."


	6. Chapter 6

**VI.**

U.N.I.T. Medical Officer Devin Kirk was eating a sandwich when the body arrived.

He wasn't really supposed to be eating in the lab, but he was famished and it was turkey and bacon with avocado, lettuce and tomato – his favorite. He'd made it himself, lovingly and with almost spiritual reverence. It was a bloody _perfect_ sandwich. His only regret was that he didn't have any salt and vinegar crisps to complete the meal. Despite his repeated requests to the house keeping staff, the snack machine still only carried barbeque and cheese flavored. _Yech._ Beggars couldn't be choosers, he supposed.

"Heads up, Kirk," Mark the EMT (who doubled as a U.N.I.T. agent – the eyes and ears at local hospitals) smirked at him from behind the thick glass double doors to the labs. Devin nearly dropped the sandwich into his lap, startled. Mark laughed but Devin couldn't hear that part because he'd lifted his finger from the intercom button.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Devin got to his feet and gestured for Mark to quit mucking about and buzz in.

Mark did, and Devin held the door for him so he could roll the gurney into the lab. "Late night nosh, eh? Lucky Doctor Jones isn't about – she'd be pretty miffed."

"Yeah, yeah. What've you got there?" Devin waved off his comment and gestured toward the body bag with his chin. He reached out for the file and Mark handed it to him.

"Fresh out of postmortem at Royal Hope. Doctor Forrester called her in. This one's a bit of mess, mate. Picked her up meself when she was still alive and kickin'. Bloody oddest thing I've seen in a _while_."

Devin frowned. He was looking forward to a quiet overnight shift. Things had slowed down a bit, Doctor Jones was on leave to finalize her wedding plans, and most of the staff had gone home. Honestly, he just wanted to finish his sandwich in peace. Beggars and choosers…

He looked over the file and his interest peaked. Once a scientist, always a scientist. The file was simply amazing. "Did they call Jones in?"

He hoped not. Sometimes he felt overshadowed by her. He'd been at U.N.I.T. longer, only she'd come "highly recommended" and had more "field experience". Running around shouting orders and toting a gun didn't interest Devin. Was that a crime?

During that whole ATMOS business, he'd heard how "highly recommended" she'd been. She knew _him_. She knew the legend; the man people fell all over themselves to meet in person. The Doctor.

Big whoop. Did that mean she deserved to get all the good cases while he got stuck with the lion's share of overnight shifts? Did that mean she deserved to get first dibs on field operations, Colonel Mace's ear whenever she pleased and the slack-jawed reverence of the laboratory staff as if she was the bloody Queen?

Apparently.

"Not yet – Mace thought you could handle it," Mark was still smirking as he handed over the release form for Devin to sign. "Just don't get any breadcrumbs on her."

"Belt up, will ya? Roll her into the clean room, I won't be a mo'."

"You got it, boss." Mark gave a half-hearted salute and did as instructed.

When he'd scrubbed up and dismissed Mark, Devin entered the clean examination room and turned on the recording equipment. He spoke aloud, documenting from behind his sterile mask, as he approached the body.

"Twenty-sixth, March at approximately…" he glanced up at the digital clock on the wall, "…fifty-two minutes past the hour. I am beginning my initial examination report on the body of one Martina Larsen, female, aged twenty-eight. Brought in from Royal Hope Hospital postmortem; medical file indicates-"

As he approached the examination table, he fancied he saw…Devin paused. Did something just…_move_ under there? He stared hard for a moment, and then shook his head. Must've been a trick of the light.

"Medical file indicates some form of unknown mutation, though the test results are inconclusive at present. Ms. Larsen was pronounced dead at nineteen hundred hours this evening," he continued as he reached down to unzip the bag.

As he did so, he swore he saw it again…movement. Just the tiniest flicker of a squirm. Like legs uncurling under a blanket. He paused again. Stared hard, his heart rate speeding up a bit.

"Too many overnight shifts, Dev…" he muttered to himself.

Devin pressed on and unzipped the bag all the way. He pulled it back. What he saw was…he took a step back; somewhat gobsmacked.

It was ghastly.

This wasn't a woman at all. This was…words failed him. After over a year in U.N.I.T. employ, he thought he'd seen pretty much everything. Apparently not.

"The…well, the body is severely deformed…" he began with a squeak. He cleared his throat and adjusted the overhead lamp to get a closer look. "The head and shoulders seem to have fused into each other. Facial features are distorted…arms have also been fused into the torso…they look…almost _amphibian_ in structure?"

His eyes raked over the deformity on the table that was once a young woman.

He noted what looked like the formation of scales on some surfaces of the skin – what used to be the hips, legs, and breasts. Judging from the curve of the body, he would say that the spine was severely misshapen as well. Open lesions that reveled the sinew beneath were scattered across the woman's remains. Sickly yellowish and bloody pinkish liquid was oozing from them.

"This is extraordinary…!" he muttered, leaning in to get a closer look. "The mutation – whatever it is – seems to have advanced a tremendous amount in a matter of hours. On the molecular level, it's like whatever it is that found its way into this woman's body is quite steadfastly taking over. If she were any less human right now…"

A slithering. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Something had slithered from behind one of her legs around to the other side of the table. In fact, on a second look, her whole body seemed to be moving, in minuscule ways.

In a normal human body, rigor mortis would have begun to set in within a couple of hours after death. The blood would've pooled into the parts of the body closes to the ground, draining the flesh of color except in those spots where it collected. There should be _no_ movement, _no_ color, no…slithering.

And, yet…

The oddly-colored puss from those lesions was oozing, the scales were shifting and emerging from under the skin very slowly, even the fusing of the bones seemed to be occurring right before his eyes.

"Interesting…" he muttered, fascinated, his heart pounding with excitement now. "The _human_ body is deceased, and yet-"

The thing opened its mouth and hissed slowly…in a low warning.

Devin jumped back, his bum hitting the medical tray behind him, knocking instruments to the floor. He gripped the edges of the tray, totally alarmed, and tried to estimate how fast he could reach the exit from this side of the examination table.

He swallowed hard. If he could reach the door, he could press the emergency call button and armed help would be on the way. All he had to do was activate the dead lock on the lab. The thing would be contained and he would be safe. If the thing was a threat.

It looked too…dead and pitiful to be much of one right now. And the hiss could've just been a death rattle. Corpses had gas all the time, it was par for the course. But then this was no _ordinary_ cadaver, was it?

_Get it together, Dev_, he chided himself. He was an officer and a scientist. This was nothing compared to some of the things he'd examined since he'd joined U.N.I.T.

He reached behind him and retrieved the scalpel from the medical tray.

All he needed was a tissue sample. He could finish the necropsy later, when the gas and the oozing had settled. Meantime he could sit down with the microscope and get a closer look at what was writhing around inside this thing's cells.

As he approached the body, all movement seemed to cease. Stillness. Nothing. He thought, in the back of his mind…_huh…like it knows I'm going to cut it…like it's bracing itself…_

If he had lived, he would probably reflect on that thought as a survival instinct warning him to put down the scalpel and get the hell out of dodge. Ironically, it was the same sort of survival instinct that made this thing become as still as stone as he approached it, ready to cut.

Devin decided to sample the lesions first. He'd get some of the pink and yellow puss after he'd taken some of the flesh from around the open wound on the leg.

As he pressed blade to sinew, like a lightening-fast whip, some _thing_ emerged from underneath the body and snaked around his throat. The blow was so fast he hardly had time to process it before he'd dropped the scalpel and his breath was being cut off. He thrashed and turned, reaching up to beat his fists against the arm or tail or whatever it was. It just kept tightening round his throat like a boa constrictor, getting dangerously close to crushing his windpipe.

He watched in mute horror as the thing opened its mouth and hissed again, and then two more snake-like limbs lashed out of the flesh like angry pythons. One punctured his ribcage and took hold of his heart, the other wrapped itself round his right leg and yanked.

Devin's body crumpled like a rag doll and thick rivulets of dark blood exploded from between his lips as he sagged in the thing's crushing grip.

His eyes rolled blindly towards the doors; the thick, bullet-proof glass; the empty laboratory; the emergency call button.

He spit and gurgled blood into his surgical mask. The oozing, writhing body was getting closer and closer to his face as he slumped forward. Then he had no more air to breathe. And he felt his heart explode under the grip of the tentacle protruding from his chest.

All went black.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha, Colonel Mace, Forrester and the guardsman that had been on shift the night of the attack watched the scene unfold on the security tape in horror and disgust.

They could hear Devin Kirk's strangled gurgling as the thing on the table pulled his body toward it with sickening slowness. His arms and legs went limp as noodles. Martha knew he was dead then.

They watched still more as his face was pressed against the body and then…some sort of fusion of flesh took place. The black and white security tape didn't do it justice, but that is what they saw. His face practically disappeared into the mass of flesh, scales, tentacles and bone on that examination table. His body folded in on itself like a shell rather than a man, and the tentacles holding it curled even more around it, pulling it in…slowly…very slowly…but very determinedly.

It was making him a part of it, whatever _it_ was. Devin Kirk was disappearing, and this thing was becoming more and more of a beast. It was like watching a snake shed its skin – in reverse.

Then another tentacle sprang out from seemingly nowhere and came right at the camera. White noise replaced the image as it was destroyed.

"Poor chap…" muttered Mace, nodding for the guardsman to switch the tape off.

Martha stared at the blue screen for a moment, utterly without words. Her lips were parted and her brow was furrowed in concentration. After a few seconds of stunned silence, all she could say was "What the hell was that?"

Mace and Forrester exchanged looks. "That was Martina Larsen," Mace muttered. "Or at least, that's what was left of her."

Martha put her hand to her mouth and shook her head, whispering "…mutation…complete and utter transmutation…I've seen-" she paused, thinking back to a long time ago, when she saw a man being ripped apart and turned inside out next to an old well.

Mace raised his eyebrows. "What is it, Martha? Have you seen this kind of thing before?"

She shook her head, still thinking. "Well, not exactly. I meant that I've seen someone transform before – but he was alive at the time (at least, for a minute) and the transformation was completely different from _this_."

She gestured to the monitor where they'd been watching the tape.

"But you _have_ seen something like it before." Forrester demanded, his grey eyes glinting urgently. "So maybe you can apply some of that experience here. It's all we've got."

Martha crossed her arms. "I wouldn't call it _experience_ necessarily," she shook her head. "I mean, I witnessed it, and my partner sort of very quickly explained what was happening in _very_ broad terms. I didn't get to study him or anything, there were no labs to pop into for a peek at the molecular biology."

Forrester clenched his jaw, looking as though he wanted to retort. He didn't, but Martha wondered what his story was. He was acting guilty and a bit panicked – she didn't like it.

"Your partner?" Mace piped up hopefully. "You mean…?" He trailed off, not wishing to speak freely in front of a civilian, but Martha knew exactly whom he was asking about.

She sighed. "Yeah – him. It was a while back, while we were traveling together."

Forrester looked at them both in turn, clueless.

"Do you think he would-?"

Before Mace could even finish the question, Martha cut him off. "No. We can handle this. We just need to start from the beginning. I want to see what you've got on the possible whereabouts of this thing."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Once the security camera in the lab had been disabled, they lost track of the creature and its victim.

Reports were that the guardsman had not left his post outside the labs, but the examination room was not immediately visible to anyone who wasn't inside – being located down a short walkway and around a corner. The guardsman hadn't noticed that they'd lost visual in the exam room until at least fifteen minutes after the attack.

When he called on the intercom system, he received no answer.

Suspicious but not alarmed yet, he entered the labs and searched around for Doctor Kirk. When he found no one, he decided to check the exam room. This is where the report gets alarming. The guardsman swiped into the room and immediately saw the signs of struggle; the blood; and the empty body bag.

The _empty_ body bag.

And no sign of Kirk.

He called for backup and searched around the room again, but still found no one. There were traces of blood and "fluid" on the door and outside of the room but they stopped once you hit the corner that would lead you back to the main laboratory.

Nine and one half minutes after the guard discovered an empty exam room and called for backup, the security systems experienced an internal breach. CCTV, deadlock seals, perimeter systems, the mainframe and even the microgrid running the generators were shut off. Systems were down for five minutes. The Tower was in total darkness for that time, until the backup generators went up – but all they did was reboot the systems. The staff in the main Communications Hub (working under red tinted lights and the ceaseless sound of alarms going off) had to manually issue the command keys that would get everything back full operation. There were well over a thousand. With thirteen of them working nonstop, that took another hour.

U.N.I.T. was not gormless – it had emergency protocol. It had backup generators and a secondary mainframe off site. It had a contingency should the microgrid ever go completely offline. The technical staff were whiz kids and good soldiers.

But this thing, whatever it was, was fast and _clever_.

"It took out the microgrid, the mainframe, the perimeter systems, _and_ the generators all at once!" Mace growled. "We simply had not anticipated that! Hell, we couldn't even assess the threat until well after everything was back online!"

Martha nodded empathetically. Of course. They had ways of dealing with losing a few of their essential security measures, but not _all_ of them at once. And not the mainframe too! Mace kept saying: "If it had overlooked even just _one_, we could've counteracted much faster."

"Right," Martha muttered. If only it had left the perimeter systems up they'd have known when and if the thing tried to leave the grounds. If their one mercy was having the microgrid running they wouldn't have lost the cameras or the deadlock seals.

"But as it happened, we had about fifty-four minutes of downtime," Mace admitted bitterly. Martha winced.

He took off his hat and tucked it under his arm, wiping a thin sheen of perspiration from his brow. They were in a conference room, the Larsen file and the official report of the night before sitting on the table between them. Forester was the only one seated, sipping tea.

Martha leaned against the wall near him, Mace stood on the opposite side of the table, pacing.

"Christ…" Forrester sucked in his breath. "That is a _long_ time…plenty of time for that thing to escape. It could be half-way down the Thames by now."

"Yes I'm well aware of that, Doctor Forrester." Mace answered stiffly.

Martha shot Forrester a reproachful look. "Sorry…" he muttered.

Colonel Mace continued: "We had men at the usual posts around the perimeter; the flood lights came back online before anything else and we searched this entire place inside and out once we finally got our heads screwed on straight."

"But you couldn't find it," Martha marveled, disbelieving even though they obviously had not. "Could it move that fast?"

"It had a bloody hour!" Forrester scoffed.

"_No_, it did not." She corrected him, not attempting to hide the irritation from her voice. "Even though it took them that long to get security back up, we still had a building full of guardsmen and soldiers." She looked to Colonel Mace for confirmation, "no way it could get passed all of them without being seen, right?"

"Well, about half as many as usual, but yes we had every post covered plus men patrolling the parameter and the building."

"Have you questioned every single one of them?"

"Yes."

"And none of them saw anything?"

"No trace."

Martha was silent for a moment, but then she squared her shoulders and shook her head. "Right – so we just have to go back and look at everything again; retrace our steps," she told them determinedly.

Mace's eyes narrowed with reluctance. "Doctor Jones-"

"Just give me an hour, Colonel!" Martha noticed the whiteboard had been used, probably when they were doling out orders for the search party last night. Perfect for what she wanted to do. "The same hour you lot had last night, that's all I ask. Let's call in everyone you have leading the search teams. I want a full report on their progress and then we're going to tackle this thing with fresh eyes."

"We've got troops in the field as well," Mace supplied, giving in.

"Good – let's get a status on what they've found."

Mace nodded and left the room to do as she asked. Forrester scoffed again, sipping his tea. Martha had been studying the makeshift structural map of the Tower, but at the noise she turned to look at him. "What is it?"

He shrugged, standing up from the table. "I just think it's a bit…funny, that's all."

"What is?" Martha frowned.

"Well, you and that Mace bloke. I mean, _he's_ the colonel and yet," he gestured at her with his cup, bemused, "you seem to be the one giving the orders. He's been cool as a cucumber around everyone else since I got here, but with you he's practically a puppy." Forrester shook his head, actually smiling.

"Glad you find it so amusing." Martha crossed her arms and faced him fully. "But for your information, Colonel Mace doesn't take orders from me. He values my opinion and he's a decent bloke; that doesn't make him a _puppy_."

Martha stared at him hard. He'd been pretty somber up until now. She didn't know if maybe it was the tea or what, but his demeanor had changed suddenly. Especially since Mace had left the room. Where before he seemed weary and disturbed by the events that had sprung up around him, now he was coming off a bit…smug.

She considered him for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, before speaking again.

"What happened to Martina Larsen, Doctor Forrester?" she asked evenly.

He frowned. "What do you mean? You saw the file." He gestured to the medical file on the table but she ignored it.

"Yes I did. But I'm asking _you_."

"Look, Mace and his thugs have already interrogated me-"

"Well I'm not interrogating you. I'm asking your medical opinion, one doctor to another."

He stiffened and swallowed. His eyes narrowed as he thought back. "When she came in," he sighed, leaning sideways against the table, running his thumb over the rim of the now empty cup, "…she was scared out of her mind – hypertensive and hysterical. We had to sedate her. She was _changing_, even then. I've never seen anything like it. She was losing her hair, and her skin was discloured. The labs came back and we just…didn't know what to make of any of it. You should've seen us scrambling around like mad!"

His eyes were wide now. He wasn't looking at her at all, but staring at the wall, reliving the events of last night. Martha listened intently.

"There were clear signs of some sort of…genetic alteration. Her cells were literally changing before our eyes! Before we could even begin to pinpoint the cause, she died. She just…flatlined. We'd quarantined her to protect the staff and the other patients, and when she was gone the Chief of Staff told me he'd put in a call to you lot."

"Who's the Chief of Staff now?" At one time, Stoker had been in line for that post, but of course that never happened. Martha hadn't been back long enough to discover who they'd appointed after Rigby retired.

"James Manning; he came from Oxford. He's been at Royal Hope for about a year – he said he used to do occasional work for U.N.I.T. when there was a base in Oxford back in the nineties. Said he met Mace there."

Martha nodded for him to continue.

"So you U.N.I.T. people took over from there. This EMT bloke, Mark's his name, came and flashed his top secret credentials and the place was swept by some grim-faced military types. They questioned the everyone who worked on her, including me."

"And then?" Martha pressed.

He looked at her again. His grey eyes were flat and a tad resentful. "And then _this_ happened, and they pulled me out of bed and dragged me down here. When it turned out I could tell them fuck all, they called you. Happy?"

"Not yet, but thanks."

"You don't trust me, do you?" he asked after a pause, surprising her somewhat.

Martha hesitated, but decided to be truthful. "Not really, no. But I believe you, for now."

He actually smiled again. "You're something, you know that?"

She didn't get a chance to answer. Colonel Mace returned with his team and they got to work.

* * *

**More with The Doctor and Donna coming soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So this chapter may be a bit frustrating for those of you guys who've been asking about Martha calling The Doctor. BUT - there is a REASON for everything that happens in this chapter. There's a reason for it ALL, in every chapter. I've spent a while planning this thing, researching and such, and if you'll just bare with me it'll make sense. And if I did it right, it'll be awesome! Actually, my imagination kind of ran with me. So having said that, I hope you guys can get into this sci-fi/horror element b/c that's what's ultimately going to bring Ten and Martha crashing together. The wedding is just the icing, trust me...**

**Also, I moved this to Doctor & Martha since that IS the pairing, and changed the rating to M.  
**

* * *

**VII.**

"Jones: Major Peters, Captain Axle, Captain Magumbo."

They relocated to the central command station; the communications hub. Peters was overseeing the entire operation, reporting to Mace. Axel was in charge of investigating Larsen's background. Magumbo was heading the search parties on and off base.

They went over the security tapes again. They watched each tape simultaneously over the twenty-minute span from when Kirk went in to when the facility went dark.

"How could that thing have gotten out of the labs without Helms seeing it?" Martha mused, pacing before the large wall of monitors all showing the same image from different angles. "It doesn't exactly blend in with the scenery, and there's no other way out of the labs but to pass through the security checkpoint. It's at least seven feet by the looks of it, its got tentacles, and it seems to be out for blood."

"But how do you explain it, Doctor Jones?" Magumbo spoke up from her leaning position against one of the computer banks. "It killed Doctor Kirk, disabled the CCTV, then – what? Disappeared?"

"No, that's not what happened…" Martha muttered, staring hard at her shoes.

They all exchanged looks. Martha may not have realized it, but some part of what Forrester was saying earlier was true. She had credibility and was given more respect and patience than most precisely because she'd held her own at The Doctor's side for two years (one of which had been erased from Time) – and his recommendation must've been positively _glowing_. But Martha didn't rest on that, she went above and beyond when it came to her duty, which only added to the leeway she was given.

"Okay," Forrester prodded her, "so what's your theory then? What do _you_ _think_ happened?"

She tossed him a sideways glance but didn't reply for a moment. Martha turned to face the bank of monitors and put her hands on her hips. Most of them showed the frozen image of the labs, just before the thing took out the camera. Kirk was disappearing into the scaly, writhing folds of flesh on the examination table and a blurry tentacle was partially obscuring the view of the rest of the lab, mid-blow.

She stared at it, a thought nagging at her, before she finally spoke it aloud. "What if it didn't leave the room at all? At least – not until we went offline?"

Mace frowned, blinking at her several times. "Explain?"

Martha sighed, beginning her pacing again. "Well the report says there was no evidence of the creature's movement outside that room, and if it could simply 'disappear' Captain-" Magumbo raised an eyebrow, "-then it would've done already. Why wait? Why take out the entire microgrid first?"

"But you're forgetting something, Doctor Jones." Martha turned to observe Forrester again, who was drinking more tea, making himself comfortable. A very intense flash of resentment whipped through her at the sight of him for some reason, but it faded quickly – or rather, she _pushed_ it away. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong; he was trying to help.

"I know," she sighed again, "Helms would've been killed." Everyone exchanged looks again but Martha ignored that. "And that's one of the reasons I think it took out the microgrid. Think about it: it waited a long time before it killed someone. You said so yourself, Doctor Forrester: Martina Larsen was mutating very rapidly, even from the moment she arrived at Royal Hope."

Forrester nodded.

"Right, so when she died, how long was she in cold storage before she was finally transported here?"

"She wasn't in storage – we kept her quarantined in Trauma One. We sealed off the whole area. We thought it too risky to move her, incase whatever it was went airborne. We were all screened and scrubbed every time we went in or out." He scoffed. "So naturally, I ended up babysitting the thing until you guys came and claimed it."

He shivered.

"Exactly my point – you're not dead. You're still here. And so is Helms and so are the rest of our men – all except Devin Kirk."

"So – you're saying this thing purposefully _chose_ Kirk?" Axel spoke up incredulously.

"Maybe? I don't know. What do we really _know_ about it so far? What hard facts do we have?" Martha shrugged. "It was very patient, it didn't kill him right away – maybe because it couldn't or maybe because it didn't want to."

"Okay," Magumbo conceded, gesturing with her hands. "Even if we're to consider that, Doctor Jones, we still have to _find_ this thing. So what does it matter who it has killed, when or why? It still _killed_ one of our men, and it's still out there somewhere. It may only be a matter of time before it kills again – it may already have. We have very few leads on where to look for it, and we need to be getting a full-scale search underway. So we need your point, and we need it quickly."

Magumbo looked to Colonel Mace for backup.

"She has a point, Jones," Mace admitted.

"Just a few more minutes, sir, please." Martha asked, her face determined. "Let's review the tape again."

Mace looked reluctant, as did everyone else. But he relented.

They watched the footage again, going past Kirk's death to the other feeds in the facility, showing patrolmen at their posts; showing darkened labs and equipment rooms; showing crewman mucking about in the rec center; the vast, empty grounds illuminated by flood lights and various guardsmen and soldiers patrolling in shadow.

"I just want to be sure – I have a theory. _Just_ a theory, but something Kirk said got me thinking…"

"Thinking what?" Forrester asked.

"He said 'amphibian,'" Martha told them.

She tapped one of the crewmembers at a control station on the shoulder and motioned for him to slow down the video feed. They all watched carefully. "Amphibian?" Mace repeated softly.

Martha nodded, staring hard. "When he was examining the body, he said some of the bone and skin formations resembled amphibian traits." Her eyes narrowed as she spoke to the room at large, a pale white glow surrounding her from the dozen or so monitors all showing different images from the facility that night. "Some amphibians use camouflage to protect themselves from predators; they blend in – some can change their colour, some can use light reflection to appear invisible – but the _point_ is-"

"You think this thing was able to escape because no one saw it moving around in the dark." Forrester supplied for her. "Because, apparently, it _does_ blend in with the scenery."

"Yep," Martha popped her 'p' again but didn't turn around to face him. "I mean, why not? How else do you explain it? How could _no one _notice it in all that time, in all that searching?"

"Sounds like a bit of a reach to me, Doctor Jones," Magumbo muttered, crossing her arms. "And I say we're wasting precious time here. I need to be giving my men instructions on how to catch this thing, not dabbling in wild theories."

"What the…?" Martha exclaimed suddenly, totally ignoring Magumbo's statement. She looked down at the crewman again. "Roll it back, quickly!"

"What is it? Jones?" Mace approached her, his brow furrowed and his slightly slanted mouth tight with apprehension. "Did you see something?'

"Yeah…" Martha said absently, staring at the monitors again. "I mean – well I think I did. _There!_ Stop there!"

The crewman did as she asked and played the tape back. "What are we looking f-?" Forrester tried to ask, but she rather rudely shushed him. He blinked, but didn't attempt to complain. Instead he turned his attention back to the monitors and focused.

The dozen or so images of various rooms and the exterior of the facility looked the same as the last few times they'd seen this footage. And then, all at once, something changed. It was very quick, almost imperceptible if you weren't staring hard – but it happened across all monitors at the exact same moment.

A spike; a flare; a tweak in the footage, across each screen. At the same instant. And it happened about a second before the microgrid went down and they lost visual.

"What was that?" Magumbo, now alert and losing her skeptical demeanor, stepped forward letting her arms come down to her sides.

"Did you see it?" Martha asked. "That…spike across the screens?"

"Yes I did," Axel answered before Magumbo could. "Looked like some sort of static interference. How could we not have noticed that…?"

"Play it again," Colonel Mace instructed the crewman. He did as asked.

They all watched in silence and concentration. They all saw it at the same time – a fluctuation; a "spike" in the footage, like some sort of magnetic pulse or a blip on a radar. It was like when a videotape has a snag in the film that causes a squiggly line or a distortion in sound. A second later all monitors went dark, as the blackout had occurred. Mace shook his head in mystification. "Anyone care to explain?"

"Check for the source of the interference," Peters instructed the crewman closest to him.

He worked for a minute, searching through the computer and attempting to isolate what they saw in the microgrid logs. "There," Peters pointed to the crewman's screen. "Put it on full screen."

A second later the monitors before them collectively showed the full screen digital form of the footage they'd been watching. Each line represented the individual frequencies of the feed in layers. There was the audio, the video, the encryption that kept outside sources from hacking in – and something else.

It was barely there, flickering in and out and then – at the exact moment they'd seen in the video footage – it spiked before all signals blinked out.

"That signal is not ours, that's for sure," the crewman informed them. "Though, it blends in quite well. If we weren't actively looking for it, we wouldn't have caught it."

"Well, where did it come from?" Mace persisted. "Can you trace it?"

The crewman paused, looking reticent. "It's not anything we've created. I know every line of frequency in the grid and I know we've never inserted anything like that because…well because it's a particular kind of electrical signal that we simply don't need or use."

"What kind, then?" Martha asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

"It's the kind of electrical signal that's commonly found in…brain activity, ma'am." The crewman admitted. "Only, much, much stronger. I'd say easily ten times as strong as normal human brain activity, to register at a level high enough to knock out the grid."

"Telepathic, you mean." Martha said.

The crewman frowned. "I'm not an expert, but…maybe, yeah."

"But the _source_?" Peters demanded. "Where did it come from?"

"Well, sir, that's the thing: it appears to have come from _here_," said the crewman. "It wasn't _sent in_ from anywhere. Our frequencies are protected against outside interference and we'd have seen it coming. It just…appeared. Which means its source had to be somewhere in this building."

"And now?" Peters prodded.

"Now it…well, it's gone sir. It's dropped out of range. I'm not sure what that means, since it didn't appear until after the creature had already attacked Doctor Kirk."

"I've heard enough," Magumbo spoke up, squaring her shoulders and addressing Peters. "Sir, with your permission I'd like to continue the search."

"Of course, Magumbo, but I still don't see _where_ we can continue from – here? We've swept this pace twice already."

"With all due respect, sir," Martha interrupted, drawing their attention to her once again. "Even though it's not much of a lead, its all we've got. This thing obviously has some sort of…telepathic ability. And it _definitely_ has a purpose other than random killing. It used that ability to hide from us, to disable our defenses. It could've escaped and left grounds, but it could also still be here somewhere – hiding."

"How can you explain that, Jones?" Peters retorted, looking exasperated. "A mysterious 'telepathic' signal and an offhand comment about amphibians?"

"The combination makes sense. Kirk saw it move three times before it killed him, but he didn't think to keep away from it. No one noticed it at all; everyone contends they didn't see a thing the whole hour we were offline. Why? It's protecting itself…like...like…" she cast about, everyone waited impatiently for her to finish her thought. She suddenly got a very clear memory. One of The Doctor tinkering with dozens of bits from various objects, in an abandoned parking lot one cold night. One of him slipping something round his neck and asking her to look directly at him – she tried and failed. Tried and failed…"it's like they didn't _want_ to see it."

"What was that, Jones?"

"A perception filter – a camouflage. If it's here, we can't see it. If it's out there, we won't find it unless we look in the _right_ places."

"Such as?"

Martha glanced at Forrester. He stared at her in puzzlement for a moment, until her meaningful look sparked something in his mind. He raised his eyebrows. "You're joking. The Thames?"

"No, _you_ joked it could be halfway down the Thames by now – and maybe it is. Think about it: the thing has tentacles and scales and uses camouflage. I _know_ how mad it sounds, but if you just _think_ about it, it _makes sense_."

Magumbo sighed harshly, the frustration and impatience evident in her stiff posture and firm expression. "Fine then, we'll comb the Thames for a giant, camouflaged toad with tentacles. That'll only take us til the end of the year. And if you're wrong Doctor Jones, we'll have wasted precious time and resources."

Martha swallowed but met Magumbo's challenging gaze head on. "I know. But it's not all we've got. We know the frequency of the signal, now. Let's use it to our advantage. It'll help narrow down the search."

"Right then," Mace raised his voice with authority. "Captain Magumbo, you'll direct your men to start making their way down river. We'll equip them to start listening for that signal – comb it _thoroughly_, understood?"

Magumbo hesitated but nodded. "Yes sir."

"And we'll search the facility again once more – this time gentlemen, we will keep our eyes peeled and leave no stone unturned. Every nook and cranny, use your eyes and brains like your lives depend on it."

"Will do," Magumbo conceded, still not looking pleased but at least happy to finally be taking action.

"As for you Captain Axel, you will assist Doctor Jones in finding out anything and everything more we can about this creature – starting with Miss Larsen."

"Sir." Axel saluted.

"Major Peters, if you would please man the helm from Headquarters?" Peters nodded. "You all have your orders. Move out."

Martha sighed and looked about as everyone dispersed. Forrester caught her eye. He was staring at her thoughtfully. She stared back for a moment – but then Colonel Mace took her gently by the elbow and escorted her out of the control room. "Jones…" he began, his voice hesitant but serious.

Martha cut him off. "I know what you want to say, Colonel." He stood upright, looking down at her imploringly. "And I know you're right."

"Look, Jones – you are the only person that we know of with the ability to establish direct contact with The Doctor. I know that you value the trust he's placed in you on that front," he began quietly. "But if this gets any more out of hand; if this mystery deepens any further and more people die, I'll no longer be _asking_ you."

Martha clenched her jaw, her gaze held by his.

"I of course do not wish to appear helpless here. If we can solve this on our own, I'd rather keep things close to vest and handle it in house, so to speak. But _brilliant_ as your assessment is, it's still a shot in the dark. And you and I both know that The Doctor may possess information – _vital_ information that could save us all a lot of time and the loss of more life."

Martha felt her guts twist; felt heat flaring at her temples; felt a knot develop in her throat. Of course he was right. She could hypothesize and make intelligent guesses until the cows came flying home, but _no one_ could match The Doctor in getting down to the root of a problem.

She also knew that he had left the Earth in hands like hers and Jack Harkness' for a mightily good reason. For the first time in a long time when it came to the Time Lord, she was torn. Two desires were battling within her. One was old and worn in; this one she recognized immediately; this one she'd carefully stored away like an old heirloom. She knew she would have to face that fact soon, but not now.

The other she couldn't even wrap her mind around at present, so she didn't try to.

"We'll do things your way for now. Find out what killed Martina Larsen. At least then if we need to call him we'll have more information for him than last time," Mace was saying, "…but Martha…if it turns out that we _do_ need his help…"

She nodded solemnly. "You won't need to ask, sir, trust me."


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

The Doctor stared at the TARDIS monitor.

He didn't see it. He was thinking.

Donna was up to something.

That displeased him, angered him, but mostly it saddened him. He didn't _want_ to be angry with her. He didn't _want_ to have to _suspect_ her. They had a brilliant thing going; he'd been so chuffed to have her with him. They were mates – he felt liberated at the fact that she was willing and open and brave and as addicted as he was to this life. _Without all the baggage!_

And now…because he'd slipped…because she'd cottoned on to his melancholy over a thing he was only just coming to grips with himself (and had no idea how to handle at the moment, except to do nothing) all of that was in jeopardy. How to proceed?

Both his anger and his disappointment were volatile things. And he knew he could be brutally judgmental sometimes. Rose had shown him that, and even though it didn't really stop it from happening, her influence did give him pause more often. It did make him want to think through his actions. He'd royally messed up with Martha (that was part of the problem, if he were honest) and so he wanted to try not to be rash where this new development with Donna was concerned.

He and Donna hadn't been together very long, and to have it come to an end because of, frankly, poor judgment on her part, was quite a let down.

So. The question remained. How to proceed?

He ran a hand through his unruly hair and turned around to lean against the console, this time staring at his trainers. He absently slipped his other hand in his trouser pocket and his fingers closed round the mobile phone that seemed to have started this whole mess.

Martha had rung him up months ago, and he came as she asked. And he saw her, and oh it was an adventure like always. But she had changed.

She was different from the Martha he'd met on the moon. It felt like such a long time ago, now. Oh she'd _always_ been extraordinary. Always been brilliant and passionate and…beautiful. But when he first saw her again he had been hit hard with the dazzling reality that she'd grown exponentially more in those qualities. Without him.

Honestly, what had he expected?

_Of course_ she would not have remained that same Martha who hung on his every word, that Martha who would follow him anywhere, that Martha who quietly suffered; _so in love_ with him.

And would he _really_ have wanted her to? There was the rub.

No he wouldn't want her to remain as she was before she walked out of the TARDIS, leaving him behind. No he wasn't surprised – but rather pleased and quite proud – that she'd come into her own.

But then he found out that she'd done all of this changing while with someone else…

Engaged. Martha was getting married.

_She was getting married?_ She was – yep. And _why_ did that put such an enormous and annoying bee in his bonnet? After all, it was just a simple fact. Just something about Martha's life now; like the fact that her hair had grown past her shoulders and she wore a different perfume than before. Something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Something so perfectly reasonable and rational – for any ordinary human being.

Something so…surprisingly _maddening_ to him.

Because Martha was _not_ some ordinary human. She was _The Doctor's_ Martha, a woman he'd chosen for his Companion because she had the kind of astounding potential that only _he_ could see.

And sorry, he _couldn't_ _help_ _it_, alright? This was so beneath what he knew she was capable of.

The Doctor stood up from his leaning position and began to pace. As his annoyance level began to rise, the TARDIS began to respond. She'd been witness to his wildly wondering thoughts concerning their now absent Companion Martha for weeks now. She sensed it even before he could – when something would remind him of her, and start him off down an infinite loop of complaints that never led to action.

She tried to sooth him, but he ignored the gentle nudge to be still and calm down. He was on a roll now, almost totally forgetting about his little problem with Donna.

He was thinking that it wasn't that she had her new life, or who she'd become, or how much she'd grown despite him that produced a searing longing to have her back with him. No, it happened quite specifically when he saw her engagement ring and heard that ridiculously coy promulgation of matrimony escape her smiling lips.

He tried to ignore it but it was so steadfastly _there_. He stupidly _longed_ to have that Martha back who hung on his every word, that Martha back who would follow him anywhere, that Martha back who quietly suffered; _so in love_ with him.

It was selfish and barmy, but there it was.

When that shoddy clone was waltzing about, pretending to be his Martha; the anger churned and boiled until it was a steady current of liquid fire within him. As did the longing. He didn't understand it.

Something had begun to form deep in the recesses of his mind through the whole ordeal, where he'd kept it buried. For a Time Lord who could think of several things at one time it was like having the telly on in the other room while you listen to the radio, knit a nice jumper and read a book at the same time. Thus it nagged him while he saved Martha, figured out how to stop the Sontarans, sacrificed himself, then was out-sacrificed by Rattigan, got pulled to Messaline, lost Martha, fathered a genetic clone named Jenny, grew close to her despite his best judgment, found Martha, stopped the Hath and the humans from destroying each other, terraformed the planet, lost Jenny, mourned her, then saw Martha safely back home.

And what d'you know, when he could think clearly he still didn't get it? It was an absurd fantasy – also an embarrassing and very troubling one. Suddenly he wanted to take the place of this Tom bloke, making her blush and feel attractive. Making her feel beautiful; making her happy; bringing out the best in her.

The Doctor found himself thinking wildly about what she and Tom did alone together, how he loved her, how he treated her, how she responded to him. The telly was constantly on in the other room while he and Donna carried on their business. Except it got louder and louder as the days progressed, until he couldn't ignore it as easily as he'd done before.

Did her eyes become large with awe or rapt with attentiveness when Tom was speaking? Did he bring out the very best in her? Did he have a clue how amazing she was? Did he realize the things she'd done, the things she was capable of? Would he ever know that Martha Jones had _saved the world_ all on her own?

Because The Doctor knew those things; recognized those things; appreciated those things – too late.

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to call her and spill his guts; blab all of his regrets. But that was not who he was. That was not what she needed.

He recognized now how he must've seemed to her the day she walked out of the TARDIS. The Time Lord Oblivious. The Time Lord Unaffected. The Time Lord Impenetrable. The Time Lord still holding an ever-burning torch for one Rose Tyler. A torch that, even though it was currently being overshadowed by a much brighter one with a totally different shape and hue, still burned.

He had wanted Martha to come back instantly; he understood that now. But he didn't say it and she would never know it.

It was his turn to suffer now. It was his turn to long for something he could not have.

He owed her that, at least.

And Donna didn't get that.

Speaking of Donna…the question remained…how to proceed?

The TARDIS filled him with her desire for his patience. He frowned. "Come again…?" She didn't do it again because she knew he'd heard and perfectly understood what she wished of him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "_Really?_"

The walls rumbled just barely, a sounding of stubborn insistence. He sighed. He really didn't want to have to coax her into cooperating with him later by offending her now. She very rarely asserted her wishes on him, and he had to admit, he was curious.

So he would see where all this was going, then. He had a very good suspicion, but for now he would hold his anger and disappointment at bay. For now. The second his suspicions were confirmed, he would put an end to it. If that meant he'd lose his temper…well, they'd have to deal with it when the time came.

Donna came back as if on cue, in fresh jeans and a maroon v-neck jumper. Her hair was in a ponytail and her cheeks were slightly flushed. The Doctor resisted the urge to frown. "Right, then!" he exclaimed cheerily, his eyes dancing. "Ready?"

"I'm ready if you are, boss," she nodded, returning his benign smile. Their eyes met and he almost let on that he detected some other meaning behind her words, like the fact that she'd used "if" rather than "when". Instead, he tore his eyes away and jogged over to the open column where he always hung his coat. The Doctor slipped it on as he stepped quickly down the ramp to the door. He opened it for her.

"After you, Miss Noble."

Donna beamed at him and stepped out. The Doctor watched her go, his face solemn since she wasn't looking.

Oh, this would be interesting…

Justified as his exasperation may have been, The Doctor failed to realize two things. One being that his TARDIS wasn't just trying to get him to see the benefit of the doubt. She knew what Donna was up to, but that didn't really matter. Because she so felt the longing that he did; the nagging urge to reach out to their Martha. Fond as she was of Donna, her Doctor was reeling with these feelings. At this point, no matter the deception, she might do exactly as Donna was attempting if it meant her Doctor could find his way to peace where Martha Jones was concerned. It might fail – and poor Donna might indeed find herself facing his volatile anger head on. But her heart was in the right place; the TARDIS understood this feeling.

And then there was the other thing he failed to realize as his mind swarmed with thoughts of Martha and Donna. As the telly and the radio and the knitting and the book reading persisted – someone had also left the kettle on.

A signal had registered on the monitor that he'd been staring at but not really seeing. It registered and blinked out quickly but it had been there nonetheless. It came and went again as he closed and locked the TARDIS door, leaving the console room empty.

A very subtle…very _old_…quite impossible signal.

* * *

**Gonna get scarier...gonna get us some Wilf action, gonna get us some Captain Jack (making an entrance that might surprise you)...gonna get more mysterious tentacled creature thing! Gonna get us a wedding! Gonna get us some Martha/Doctor lovin...! Basically - we'll pick up the pace in these next few chapters, LOL.**


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

Forrester approached Martha as she was heading out with her team. Captain Axel was briefing her on the intel they'd gathered and their driver was waiting.

"She lived alone in a one bedroom flat in Southbank. Worked as a waitress at some fancy pub about eight blocks away…let's see…landlord said she kept to herself, paid her rent on time, was in graduate school with aims at becoming a social worker…"

"Alright, what about friends, family?" Martha pressed, checking that her radio was on as they made their way to the parked SUV awaiting them.

"Excuse me, Doctor Jones?" Martha looked up at Forrester. "Perhaps I can be of help?"

Martha blinked and exchanged glances with Captain Axel. "That really isn't necessary, Doctor Forrester. Why don't you go home and try to get some sleep? You look like you need it."

He smirked and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "I wish I _could_ sleep, but I'm afraid that's no use. Besides – Martina Larsen didn't have any family to speak of. Her mother died of pancreatic cancer five years ago, her father is basically a non-entity (he left when she was two years old) and she has no siblings. But – she does have a girlfriend. Dillon Burrows. She asked us to contact her last night. We couldn't get through so we left messages. I'd say maybe you'd want to start there."

He crossed his arms, that self-satisfied look on his face again. "That's what's in the report, yes," Axel confirmed, barely noticing Forrester's smugness. "We haven't established contact either. We cross-referenced her cell number for the address. That'll be our next stop."

Martha looked again at the Royal Hope physician and he gestured with both hands in a _'see, told you'_ sort of way. "I'm sure I _can_ be of some help to you."

"You've not been much help so far," Martha scoffed, acting on an instinct that betrayed her logical self. "You're just stating things we already know."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Well let me make amends for that, then. Two medical minds are better than just one on this. I treated her. Let me help – at least until you think you need to call your Doctor friend."

Martha cocked her head to the side. "Excuse me?"

"Couldn't help overhearing you and the Colonel, sorry. Is he…well, is he the guy you were with on the moon? I think I've heard of him. Granted I always thought all those stories were just made-up rubbish, but if this is the _same_ guy-?"

"Look – you are right, two medical minds are better than one. So fine, you can come." Martha cut him off, ignoring his questions. She sighed and looked at Axel. "Do you mind?" Axel shrugged, which further annoyed her. "Alright, then. Let's go."

She turned on her heel and led the way to the SUV. Forrester smiled at Captain Axel and followed Martha.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martina Larsen lived on London Bridge Street, in a one bedroom flat. All of her windows faced another building filled with identical tiny flats. Martha used to complain about her little hole in the wall back in medical school, but she had to admit it wasn't nearly as bad as this place.

They found mostly what they expected to find: things were as she left them when she'd called the ambulance the night before. Her bath towel was crumpled on the floor in a heap by her bed, which was unmade – there was even still a head-shaped dent in her pillow. Her hairbrush was lying at the foot of the bed, covered in tangled, dark brown hair. Keys by the door, purse on the kitchen counter…she'd forgotten to turn off her DVD player…

They'd all put on hazmat suits: herself, Captain Axel, and Forrester. Two of Axel's men were sealing off the apartment with softwall bio-enclosures and had discreetly evacuated the building hours ago. Thankfully it was a small building – only ten flats, all studios or one-bedrooms. The residents had been given hotel vouchers until U.N.I.T. could officially declare the building safe.

Martha knew it was – there was something about the way this mutation behaved that suggested to her it wasn't airborne. But one couldn't be too careful. If it wasn't airborne, it would have to be transferred through ingestion or the mixing of bodily fluids. Martha was looking for signs of ingestion, so she went straight for the kitchen.

She targeted the rubbish bin, cabinets, sink and dishwasher while Axel and Forrester searched the bedroom and bathroom for more (probably useless) hair samples and any other DNA samples they could pick up. Dead skin from the tub, any oozing from the lesions she'd had…fingerprints, etc.

There were remains of what looked like dinner for two in the microwave and fridge. Two raked-out plates were stacked in the sink and there were containers from a Thai food place down the street in the bin.

She noticed something odd after about ten minutes of rummaging around. There were two wine glasses dumped in the sink. They looked as though they'd definitely been used. Martha could see the rim of one coated with a lipstick stain, and the other still had remnants of dark reddish liquid caked at the bottom.

Thing was: the rubbish bin was still full and she'd searched the freezer, the fridge and all of the cabinets – there was no bottle of wine, empty or otherwise, to be found. Martha checked again, and then checked the den and all around the little dining area. No wine bottle. She frowned hard. "Captain Axel," she called.

She got a soft thump in response. Martha turned to face the bedroom door. It was closed.

She didn't remember it being closed while she'd started in on the kitchen cabinets. Had they closed it while she was searching the den? "Hey – Captain Axel? Doctor Forrester?"

No answer. A strange shuffling sound. Alarmed, Martha unclasped her radio and moved cautiously towards the door. Her heart thumped deafeningly in her ears, making it hard for her to listen for more strange sounds through the hazmat helmet. She took cautious step after cautious step, not sure what she would find on the other side but terrified just the same. If something was happening to either of them in there…

She kept her finger poised to call for help, just in case.

The door opened suddenly and Forrester walked out. Martha immediately raised her arms, ready to fight, and shouted "Stop right there!"

"What the-?" He stopped in his tracks and dropped a plastic biohazard bag with Martina's hairbrush inside. He took a step towards her. "Martha, what's wrong?"

"Don't you _move!_ Where is Captain Axel?" she demanded.

He laughed nervously, gesturing behind him. "He's in the toilet gathering samples; what's going on?"

"Captain Axel!" Martha shouted, ignoring his question. No answer. "Captain?"

Her eyes met Forrester's, and he stared at her the same way he'd been staring at her the whole morning – with a thoughtful expression that gave her chills. She raised her radio to the mouthpiece of her helmet and hissed: "Request backup, immediately, number Six-R, over."

The radio chirped and a voice answered: "Yes ma'am, on our way, over."

"Whoa, _whoa,_ what's-?" Forrester started again but she cut him off a second time.

"What've you done to him?" she uttered through clenched teeth.

"Nothing!" he shouted back, then called over his shoulder, "Captain, your medical officer is going round the bend out here. Could you let her know you're alright, please?"

A second later, Captain Axel stepped out from the room, an alarmed expression on his face. He looked from Martha's stunned face to Forrester's now confused one. "Doctor Jones? What's going on?"

"Why didn't you answer me?" Martha asked, not lowering her radio.

"I was gathering skin samples. Sorry – hard to hear in there; the overhead light in the toilet is attached to one of those blasted fans. And a call came through from Davies. They're en route to Burrows' place. If we're done here, we should move out." He came toward her. "I just heard you call for back up. What happened in here?"

"I…" Martha looked at Forrester again, who was still looking apprehensively at her. Two of the officers who'd been sealing the flat came in just then, their weapons pulled. "I…dunno…" she finished lamely, though truthfully. She _didn't_ really know what she'd thought she'd heard.

"Captain? Doctor Jones?" one of the men spoke through his suit helmet. "We got a call for backup – is something the matter?"

"No, everything's fine…I think," Axel answered, gesturing for them to disarm. "Unless, Doctor Jones…?" he looked from her to Forrester again.

Martha swallowed hard, the adrenaline easing off as she shook her head. "No, I just…ah…just thought you might be in trouble, that's all."

"Trouble?" Axel frowned. "From what? There's only the three of us here."

"Yeah…" she breathed, still staring at Forrester, who remained frozen with his hands in the air. "Yeah, sorry."

"Can I move, now?" Forrester asked after an uncomfortable moment of silence.

Martha didn't speak to him, only nodded stiffly. She hooked her radio back to her suit as he bent to pick up the hairbrush in the biohazard container. "Um…" she swallowed again, gathering her wits. "I found something interesting," she addressed Axel, who was still looking at her worriedly.

She explained about the wine glasses and the missing bottle. "Well, let's bag them up and take them with us. We'll test the samples at the lab."

They gathered everything up, stored them in biohazard coolers and prepared to leave. Captain Axel gave instructions to his men to seal the flat again. "No one goes in or out unless you have word from me or Doctor Jones, got it?"

The officers did as they were told and the three of them left the building. Martha saw news vans parked outside, so they had the SUV meet them round the side of the building in an alley.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"Dillon Sarah Burrows, thirty years old, geologist with specialties in…" Martha paused as she scanned the Dillon Burrows file on her U.N.I.T. laptop. She raised her eyebrows and mused: "…mining, engineering, and hydrology."

"Deep sea engineering, I'm guessing?" Forrester spoke up from the back seat. She glanced up at him in the rearview, but quickly looked away.

Rather than answer him, she continued reading. He was right. "Says here she did accept a post with some deep sea mining company, Centrica Corp. Lasted ninety days, she just got back. Centrica Corp…?"

She started a search for the company name. As the search results came up, Captain Axel offered what he knew.

"They're the guys sent in to clear the Baltic Sea of all those mines from World War II, right?" He spoke as the driver turned onto Farringdon Street. Martha nodded slowly, reading a press release from the BBC World News website.

"There were at least three companies competing, including a Russian startup – but it went to Centrica. Mighty coup for us Brits, it says here. I remember seeing the press conference on the news…"

"Deep sea mining? Oh right…they're using specially-programmed robots to hunt for the mines or something, yeah?"

"Yep, that's them. Supposedly they beat out the other guys because they were the only environmentally conscious-leaning company in the running. Everyone else was mining for precious metal – diamonds, mostly – Centrica Corp is more of an academic organization, it says."

Martha went back to scanning the dossier on Burrows.

"And, it looks like Burrows was pretty heavily involved with that project, at least until recently."

Forrester shook his head, bemused. "And why, if she was so into her work, did she suddenly jump ship, so to speak…?"

No one answered, but they were all guessing at the same conclusion.

When they finally reached Burrows' neighborhood, a small residential street called Percy Circus, they got out and found their U.N.I.T. team hadn't arrived yet. "Blast," Axel muttered, looking cross.

He got out his radio and called for his team. As he got their twenty, Martha approached the house. It was a small brownstone, not unlike the one she herself lived in. That reminder her – she made a mental note to call Tom as soon as she had the opportunity, perhaps her Mum and Tish too.

Forrester was near her. "Hey – can I ask you something?"

"What?" Martha said, her lips barely moving as she stared up at the dark windows of the brownstone.

"Did I do something especially offensive to you? You seem completely nettled by me." He scoffed, "I mean, that thing in Larsen's flat _alone_ tells me you definitely don't trust me, and I can't figure why."

Martha didn't look at him. "I can't figure it, either, if it's any consolation."

"Ah." He laughed nervously. "Alright, then." There was an awkward pause, and then he said: "So – if you don't mind me asking…what's he like? The Doctor?"

Martha finally turned to look at him. Axel was still speaking with his men. "Why?"

Forrester shrugged. "Curious, I guess. Isn't everyone? Seems like it. The stuff I've heard…"

Martha regarded him for a long moment. She reassessed him. There really was no reason for her to distrust him. He was a doctor who'd stumbled upon this thing and was in knee deep, against his will. His head was filled with all of these new, astonishing, and frankly disturbing revelations – all of which had happened in rapid fashion in a matter of hours. He could be ranting and raving and being a nuisance, or a nervous mess, or refusing to cooperate at all. But no, he was here trying to help.

And here _she_ was being a bit of an asshole to him simply because she didn't like the way he looked at her sometimes. And, no she didn't like him asking her questions about The Doctor either, but it was probably innocent. He was right – when people found out about her association with The Doctor, they became fascinated with her. They endeavored to know her because it was the closest they'd probably ever come to knowing _him_. It was tiresome, but most of the time innocent. Most of the time.

She took a deep breath. "What have you heard?"

He blinked, taken aback by her now relatively open demeanor. For a moment, that smugness flashed across his face, but he let it go just as quickly – probably realizing that was one of the very things that bothered her about him. "Er – well, I've heard that he's mates with the Queen."

Martha laughed aloud and the tension between them melted a bit.

The hazard team was still en route, and Martha was growing restless. Captain Axel complained that he'd lost communication. Martha thought that odd and irritating. They couldn't afford to be having problems with their equipment or waiting for tardy team members. "Look, why don't you and I go in ahead and they can start sealing stuff off when they finally arrive." She suggested.

Forrester readily agreed, eager to get on her good side. Captain Axel said he'd stay outside to watch for the team. "Stay on your guard, and radio if you need backup."

She and Forrester suited up and entered Burrows' flat.

The place was dark; the air felt a bit thick and soggy…Martha guessed it would also probably smell quite foul. She also guessed why, but she said nothing.

This flat was much brighter than Larsen's, with more expensive looking furniture and wares. It was neatly kept, except for a pile of luggage strewn about near the door.

"Dillon Burrows?" she called softly. "Hello…?" No answer.

There was a living room to the right, and a narrow hall to the left that led upstairs to the bedroom and bath. The kitchen was down the hall in front of them. Martha motioned for them to check the living room and kitchen first.

They spread out, and Martha went towards the kitchen while Forrester took the living room. As soon as she walked in, she saw it: the missing wine bottle. It was sitting on the counter in the middle, just sitting there as though waiting for someone to come in and discover it. The whole space was as neatly kept as the rest of the apartment. There were no dirty dishes, no errant towels or crumbs or even any trash in the bin. She supposed being someone who worked in environments where one needs to pack light and keep things efficiently accessible must've made Burrows a bit of a neat freak.

And there was the bottle. Martha pulled a biohazard bag out of her pack and picked it up. There was no label. It was a plain, deep red bottle. It was empty. It looked old. Martha couldn't say exactly why she could tell this – it just looked and felt like it was made a long time ago. For starters, even though it was empty, it was pretty heavy.

She wanted to sniff it but she couldn't through her hazmat suit, so she bagged it and moved on. "Find anything?" she called out to Forrester as she left the kitchen and stepped down the hall to enter the living room.

"Yeah, look at this." He was squatting hear the loveseat, examining something on the coffee table. Martha stepped round him and saw a small rectangular box sitting here. It looked like an iron safe. The metal was peeling and so rusted it looked like it was covered in reddish brown mold. It had been pried open.

"What is this?" Martha squatted next to him, reaching inside. She pulled out a thick, olive green file, a pair of dog tags, and an encased video tape. She frowned hard, turning the tape over in her hands. It wasn't labeled. She looked at the dog tags, and Forrester squinted over her shoulder to get a look too.

They were engraved "ВС РОССИИ" just above a serviceman I.D. number. "Russian…" she muttered.

Martha moved on to the green file. The papers inside it were yellowing. On the cover, there was a strange symbol that looked both military-like and mythical. It was what looked like a dragon swallowing its tale, ringed around a five-point star. She couldn't read the writing underneath it. It was in Russian. She opened the file – everything on the papers inside was written in Russian as well. She couldn't really read the language, but she did manage to decipher the date: 3 октября 1981.

"Third, October, nineteen-eighty-one…" She looked up at Forrester, who looked back at her blankly. He shrugged. "Let's bag this and take it with us."

He nodded and did as she instructed.

Martha got to her feet and turned, noticing a small desk near the living room window with a laptop sitting on it. The computer was open and the screensaver was running. It was a photo slideshow. It showed who she assumed was Dillon in various pictures – out with friends, posing with children who must've been family members, looking as fresh as a university kid at some of the world's most famous geological sites. Martha recognized Hell Gate, the San Adreas Fault, and there was one of Burrows beaming from a helicopter with a view of the Great Blue Hole in Belize over her shoulder. She stood there for a moment, watching the whole show. The last few pictures were of Burrows and who Martha figured was Martina Larsen – a quite pretty brunette with a big smile and sparkling brown eyes. They were hugging, kissing, dancing…Martha felt so sorry for them both. _What a horrible way to die_…she thought sadly.

Forrester was behind her, suddenly. "D'you think there's something useful on this?"

He startled her out of her thoughts. She nodded. "Maybe. I was just gonna bag it. We can check the hard drive at headquarters." They bagged the laptop and stored it away with everything else.

Martha turned in the direction of the back of the flat, where the stairs up to the bedroom were located. "Now…let's see what's up there."

She pointed slowly to the ceiling.

Martha and Forrester moved in that direction together - cautiously. She was nervous as hell for what they might find, but she pressed on. She knew that no one was home – and if there _was_ someone here, that person was probably dead. Or worse. Much, much worse.

"Stay alert," she instructed Forrester in a low murmur as he moved up the stairs and down the hall with her. "That thing got Doctor Kirk _fast_. Be ready to run."

He nodded but said nothing. They paused midway down the hall to open the bathroom door carefully. There was no one inside. A quick look around found them nothing telling, or indicating a struggle, so they moved on.

They approached the bedroom. The door was closed.

The air also felt thicker, damper.

They exchanged glances.

Martha nodded and Forrester pushed open the door.

Inside, lying on the bed, was the dead body of Dillon Burrows.

Only, she was decidedly _more_ than dead – and not _nearly_ human anymore.

* * *

**The next couple of chapters are my favorites to write so far (I'm working on them now ;)! "Why's that?' you ask? Because worlds collide, finally! Doctor, Martha, Donna, Jack together at last! And also...more creepy/crawly/scary monster stuff! **


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

Wilfred Mott answered the door with big, glistening eyes and a giant, bewildered smile.

"I _thought_ I heard you lot!" he exclaimed, raising his arms for an embrace. Donna giggled and hugged him. "Oh, my girl!" he squeezed her tight and The Doctor couldn't help but smile.

They hugged a few seconds longer and then Wilfred reached out to take The Doctor's hand. "Hullo, Wilf!" he greeted, shaking vigorously.

"Doctor! What are you two doing down here in the slums, eh? Why ain't you busy gallivanting across the galaxies?"

"Ohhh…we've done _plenty_ gallivanting, haven't we Donna?" The Doctor responded, tugging on his ear. "Went on a scavenger hunt, ended a war, solved a good ol'fashioned detective mystery with Agatha Christy (she's _brilliant_, by the way), broke into a Kroian military base, swam under the diamond reefs of Gotta Flocco, impersonated royalty – we're _knackered_. Besides, according to Donna, Chiswick's the bee's knees this time of year, so here we are!"

"Rubbish!" Wilf waved them off, turning to shuffle into the house. Donna swatted at The Doctor's shoulder and they followed him inside. The Doctor closed the door behind him. "Nothin' going on round here but the season's turnin'." He began to rummage around the kitchen to put on some tea as The Doctor and Donna settled in at the little table.

Wilfred paused as he was filling the kettle with water.

"Although…I did see on the news just now, there's-"

"Actually, we're here to celebrate _your birthday_," Donna piped up. "Stop trying to be modest. I haven't forgotten, and this year I even dragged along Spikey here so we can have a _real_ adventure, yeah?" The Doctor watched a hiccup pass over Wilf's face, and Donna's smile tighten until it looked painful. Wilf blinked several times as if struggling to recall something. "Unless…oh, don't tell me you have _plans_ or something."

She laughed heartily then, and The Doctor put his chin in his hand, actually quite amused by the scene.

"Plans…?" Wilfred said, ignoring the fact that the kettle had got full and then some. Then he hopped on his feet. "Oh! _Plans…!_ Oh, well now you mention it, I do."

"You do?" Donna did 'disappointed' rather well.

"Yep…got a date." Wilf said, quite convincingly.

And Donna did seem genuinely surprised by this news. "A date? You? Since when-?"

"Ah, Wilf…?" The Doctor spoke up gently. Wilf blinked at him and The Doctor gestured to the kettle, where the water was running over. Wilf hopped again and turned off the faucet, then poured some of the water out.

"Oh, me head's screwed on backwards. Right – where was I?"

"You've got a date?" Donna demanded.

"Doesn't sound like the seasons turning to me," The Doctor commented, before thinking about it. "Or – actually it sort of does. Good for you!"

"But what about our tradition! What about your…you know…birthday and stuff?"

The Doctor wondered when Wilf's actual birthday was, so he could remember to do this for _real_ next time.

(He paid no attention to the impulse that despite his disappointment in her, he'd apparently decided that there _would_ be a 'next time' with Donna)

Wilf put the kettle on the cooker and shrugged. "Sorry, love, it's _Bernadette_. She's been flirting with me for years, you know. And I've been too much of bloomin' coward to ask her out for twice as long – until now. You've inspired me! Out there chasing the stars!" He waved a hand grandly to the ceiling. "Doing what you've always dreamed of! It's my turn now, ol' girl. Gotta strike while the iron is hot, so to speak, eh Doctor?"

He winked at The Doctor as he wiped his hands on his trousers.

"_Watch out, Bernadette_." The Doctor whistled low, winked in return and gave the old man a grin. "And – honestly Wilf you're welcome to come with us on a trip _any_ time. Doesn't even have to be your birthday. And bring Bernadette along! We'd love to have her!"

He waited for Donna to try and get around _that_ one.

"But…" Donna sputtered, catching herself from glaring at him in shock, but then she really got into it. "But…it's _our tradition_. We've been doing this since I was little!"

The Doctor leaned over and marveled at her glistening eyes. He'd have to commend her later on her performance. Wilf sighed and walked toward her, reaching out for her hands. She gave them to him, pouting, looking dejected.

"I know, love…it's just that…well you're not little anymore! You're a grown woman and you've got better things to do than drag around with this old codger. I'd only slow you down. Its high time you enjoyed yourself and stopped worrying about me. I've got your mum to do enough worrying for all three of us put together!"

'Where is mum, anyway?"

"Oh, she's got some fancy lady brunch club she's obsessed with. What's it matter? I have a date!"

Donna's pout very slowly turned into a smile. This date thing might've been the real deal, and Donna might not have been expecting it after all. "_You have a date!_" she beamed and got up to hug him again. "With…sorry, Bernadette who?" She blinked incredulously when she stepped back.

"_Bernadette_ – you know Bernadette Lowell, she lives four doors down. Lovely woman, big smile, lovely blue eyes, bit cheeky…"

"The woman who wears those _giant, fluffy white cravats_ with those _creepy broaches_ around her neck, even in the middle of the summer?"

"What's wrong with those?" Wilf's smile faded.

"I like a good cravat…" The Doctor offered, his chin still in his hand as he looked on. He wished he had something to snack on; this was getting good.

"Nothing, I suppose," Donna frowned and sat down. "I just don't trust a woman who dresses like a fop from eighteenth century France…"

"Oh Donna, be nice!" Wilf grumbled. "She's a lovely woman!"

"Alright, alright…" Donna conceded, taking her cup of tea and blowing on it gingerly. "What's mum got to say about all this dating business, then?"

"_Plenty_ but I ain't listening to a word of it. Never mind what she thinks."

Wilf handed The Doctor his tea and fixed one for himself. They sat round in silence for a few minutes sipping their tea, until Donna cleared her throat loudly. Wilf hopped again, spilling a little tea on his hand. He sucked in his breath and The Doctor slid his eyes from one face to the other as they worked out who would speak next.

"Er…well I suppose if you'd like to hang round for a while…I can court Bernadette. Maybe she _can_ hop along?" Wilf rubbed his chin, changing his tune, "I could ease her into it, you know. And maybe we can have an adventure…oh…say Sunday? How's that?"

Donna turned to bat her lashes at The Doctor. He straightened up – here it came. "Oh, _pleeeease?_ Can we?"

He watched her batting and smiling for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to acquiesce. Truth was, he enjoyed spending time with Wilf. Truth was though, he'd only been kidding about this Bernadette person tagging along. Truth was also, he did not enjoy being manipulated. Good show, bad idea.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Sunday?"

She nodded, still batting away.

The Doctor took another sip of his tea, making her wait for his answer. _Two can play this game, Donna Noble_, he thought, setting the cup down. "Alright – Sunday it is, then." He smiled broadly.

Donna's face went slack for a moment. He fought the urge to smirk at her. That is, until she recovered, quick as you please. She tapped herself across the forehead, her jaw dropping dramatically. Wilfred looked on intently, clutching his tea.

"Oh I completely forgot! We can't do Sunday!"

"_Reeally?_" The Doctor asked, his eyes growing large and round as he played along, feigning ignorance. "Why not?"

In the background, Wilfred hiccupped: "Yeah, why not?"

Donna turned to him, evidently pleased with herself. "It's our friend Martha, she's gettin' married."

Wilf perked up. Oh great, they were going to double team him now. Times like this were precisely why he avoided involving himself in domestic situations. "Oh, a wedding! That sounds nice. Don't tell your mum, she'll insist on trying to set you up…but if you've got The Doctor here to escort you, then-"

"Sorry, Wilfred, I've actually just…" The Doctor stood up abruptly, not wishing to lose his temper. His amusement at their little show had vanished as soon as Donna finally gave away her objective. He had known it was this all along, but that foresight in no way made having it confirmed less unpleasant. "…uh…gotta run. Repairs on the TARDIS, you know. Thanks for the tea. Why don't I give you and Donna a chance to catch up, and…stuff?"

He nodded rapidly, stiffly backing up to the door as he blundered through his excuses. Donna stared at him wide-eyed and apprehensive, but she didn't say a word. Wilf was also nodding; his expression was torn between seeking a cue from Donna and trying to convince The Doctor to stay.

"I'll just be…not here. In the TARDIS, I mean – I'll be in the TARDIS."

The Doctor didn't know how Donna had gotten him to play along but he didn't really care at the moment. He had to get out. He didn't look at her as he pried open the door from behind and escaped.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"Ohhh…_shoot_." Donna hissed, curling over in her chair to bury her face in her hands.

Wilfred sipped his tea.

"Go ahead, say it…" his granddaughter moaned from behind her hands.

He dipped his head from side to side, wincing a bit. "Well…"

"Oh just – _out with it_, Gramps!"

"What'd you go and try to trick him for?" Wilf demanded, setting his cup down and flapping his hands in the air with exasperation.

Donna looked up and crossed her arms. "I don't know! He's in denial!"

"In denial about _what_, may I ask? You said it was a special surprise – but it looked more to me like he was being marched to the firin' squad! Donna, love, I wanted to help you but maybe if The Doctor doesn't like being surprised, you should probably take that as a cue to let well enough alone."

"It's complicated. And, by the way, since _when_ are you interested in _Bernadette Lowell_, of all the uptight-!"

"_Oi..!_ Don't change the subject, missy!" Wilfred snapped. "And _don't_ go harpin' on Bernadette just because _I_ have a date and _you're_ in trouble!"

Donna felt guilt bubbling up insider her, along with a twinge of fear. Her grandfather could see this – he knew her inside and out – and she couldn't stand the pitying, yet scolding look in his eyes.

"It's…_very_…complicated?"

"Donnaaaa…what've you done?" Wilf moaned. "And more importantly, what did you get _me_ into?"

Donna did a crestfallen face. She'd made a lightening-fast call to her grandfather in the TARDIS, rushing through an explanation that went something like _'I'm trying to surprise The Doctor and I need your help…'_ Wilf was supposed to play along and make The Doctor think they were there for his birthday, when really they were creating a diversion to get him to a certain place on a certain day. Wilf was only too happy to do something nice for the man who'd given his grandbaby a chance at a whole new life, but now he looked…well, very disappointed in her.

Great. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Was she high on Gotta Flocco pleasure rays or something? Did they make a person feel they could do no wrong so they'd enjoy themselves more? She must remember to ask The Doctor – if he forgave her. Well, she hadn't heard the TARDIS dematerializing so that was a good sign, at least. Still…the thought of facing him now gave her a bit of a shiver.

Reluctantly, she explained her real motives to her granddad. He sat across from her and listened without interrupting. When she'd done, he looked torn. "Well?" She asked dejectedly. "Go on, you can tell me. Have I buggered everything up for good?"

He sighed at length. "He doesn't strike me as the type of man to suffer fools, love. Seems to me he's too fond of you to let this really daft idea of yours get the better of his judgment."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh well, _that's_ reassuring. Cheers for that one."

He chuckled softly and she offered him a lame smile.

"I just mean," Wilfred continued, taking her hands across the table again, "how can you be so sure he needs you mucking about in his love life at all, eh?"

She thought about it for a moment. "You should've seen him," she began contemplatively, "it was like…he'd left the kettle on, you know? I've never seen him this distracted and…" she did a sour face, "_mopey_ and just plain _mean_!"

"And you think it's because of this Martha…?"

"Well, what else could it be?" She demanded, as if he would know. "When he heard she was getting' married, that's when it all changed." Donna shook her head in frustration. "I could see it, right from the start. I know people – I know _him_. I had to do _something!_"

Wilf rubbed his beard, choosing his words carefully, she could tell. "I know you mean well," he patted her hand, "but maybe it's not your place to say how he deals with it? Men are of a different ilk, sweetheart – sufferin' in silence is a specialty of ours. We've got it down to a science!"

"Well if he suffered in silence, I'd not be complaining as much, I'll tell you that…" There was a pause, and she looked into his eyes beseechingly. "What do I do now?"

"Oh, I'd say your matchmaking days are over and done with, love. But maybe he'll come round on his own?"

"Hardly likely, especially with my meddling. He's probably gone back into his shell now."

"Is that such a bad thing?" She started to protest but he shushed her with a hand up. "Now, now – hear me out. I'm just sayin' there are two sides to everything, and The Doctor's a brilliant man. Maybe he already knows what he'll do about it – or maybe there's nothing _to_ do."

"What are you on about?"

"Did you ever think, maybe this Martha is happy where she is? And what about the bloke she's getting hitched to? How d'you think he'd feel if you swooped in with The Doctor and brought up all those feelings unannounced?"

Donna sat with her mouth slightly open, gobsmacked. No, she hadn't given that a moment's thought. All she'd been concerned with was how miserable The Doctor was and how it was a shame that Martha Jones would never know that he returned her feelings. Feelings that, as evidenced by her engagement and settled, satisfied demeanor last they saw each other, may not even be there anymore. And poor Tom Milligan – where did he fit into Donna's mad scheme? Twit.

She took a deep, embarrassed breath. "Donna Noble, you daft cow!"

Wilf chuckled as she squeezed her eyes shut with chagrin. "Ohh, now Donna! Don't beat yourself up, your heart was in the right place!"

"Yeah but apparently my head's gone off on holiday…stupid, stupid, stupid!" She rubbed her hands over her face, shaking her head, mortified. "Boy am I glad mum's not around for this! Praise be to those fancy lady brunch dates!"

Wilfred laughed heartily at that, covering his mouth with his hand and chortling away until Donna let go of her face and gave him another lame smile.

"Glad you find this so amusing. I may have just messed up the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Nooo!" he waved her off. "Just go and talk to him! He'll understand. Promise never to mettle again, and you'll be off on more adventures in no time. Lickety-split!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that…" she muttered sadly, glancing at the door.

He turned to look too. "Only one way to find out."


End file.
